


Behind Enemy Eyes

by splitbeak



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Captured, Gen, Michael Has a Sense of Poetic Justice, Revenge, Transformation, Wraith, Wraith Feeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-10
Updated: 2006-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splitbeak/pseuds/splitbeak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feeling angry and betrayed by the Lanteans, Michael exacts justice in the most poetic way possible... by turning Sheppard into a Wraith, as he was turned into a human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Conversion

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is just an idea that popped into my head. I always wondered what Michael interrogated Beckett about. The bomb seemed too simple.

"I told you last time, and I'll tell you again. We are not going to relocate any gate if there're local communities that might be using it. The MALP detects life signs, we go check them out. End of story." Sheppard curtly reminded McKay, who insisted on whining the entire jumper ride to the planet.

"I'm just saying," he huffed, "the last time we did check out a backwater hamlet, it didn't turn out so well. Personally, I'd like to keep my very important brain pheromone free and fully functional."

"Shut up McKay," Ronon grumbled, smacking the man upside the head as he had seen Sheppard do several times. McKay grimaced, and rubbed his head. Ronon hit much harder than Sheppard.

Fortunately for him, this backwater hamlet was little more than a small band of people living in tiny grass huts who fled at the sight of the strangers. "Well, at least they didn't attack us," Sheppard offered. They set out to try and make peace, hoping the natives would calm down once they realized they weren't in danger. After an hour of Ronon trying to track them down and failing, the team gave up on making contact.

"Well, as entertaining as that was, I think we're done here. These people obviously won't be looking to use their Stargate any time soon." McKay was far too pleased with himself and more than ready to leave this world.

"I agree that we have seen all that we need to. These people are far from having access to a gate located in space." Teyla added.

"Alright, then." Sheppard whistled, "Let's report back to Weir and head back out for the next one on Rodney's list."

They had just begun to walk back to the puddle jumper when Teyla's head shot up. "Wraith!"

The team broke out into a run as three darts swooped from the sky. Sheppard and Teyla fired their P-90s and Ronon shot with his blaster, but the Wraith were adept at avoiding hits. The culling beams appeared from all three darts, surrounding them and cutting off their route to the jumper. "Make for the trees!" Sheppard ordered.

Rodney was the first to break the tree line, followed closely by Teyla. Ronon and Sheppard took their time as they continued to fire upon the Wraith. The darts ignored the disappearance of half their prey and continued to focus their attack on the two remaining in plain sight. The beams continued to move around the clearing, but the Wraith weapons only fired when the men tried to back up to the trees. The shots missed them, as they had clearly intended to, and kept them out in the open.

The Lanteans kept firing, hearing McKay and Teyla doing the same from behind the trees. One dart finally started smoking, and Sheppard concentrated on that one, trying to finish it off. "Why aren't they splitting up and going after Teyla and McKay? They're only keeping you and me out in the open. This isn't exactly their usual pattern."

Ronon just grunted as he continued firing. "They're after us in particular. Or one of us, at least."

The smoking dart finally crashed and exploded, and Sheppard and Ronon used the distraction to make a run for it. Teyla and Rodney continued to lay cover fire as the other two ran for the trees. The ominous white beams were searching for them again.

"Colonel, look out!" McKay shouted.

As Ronon broke though the trees, the culling beam descended on Sheppard as he disappeared from sight. Instantly the Satedan turned around with a roar and began firing in earnest at the ship that had taken his leader, Teyla and Rodney joining him. The darts immediately began withdrawing, showing no interest in the remaining humans.

"Why are they leaving?" McKay shouted. "We're still here."

The team looked helplessly as the darts disappeared into the sky, taking Sheppard with them. "We have to get back to the jumper. Maybe we can catch up." McKay broke out into the fastest run the other two had seen from him yet. It didn't stop them from reaching the jumper first, but they had to wait for McKay to pilot it.

He sat in the pilot's seat sweating, but adrenalin made him completely unaware of his perspiration. Shakily he got the jumper running and flying towards the space gate. They broke orbit in time to see the hive-ship powering up and taking off.

"We're too late," he whispered.

x X x X x X x

"What do you mean, he's gone?" Weir demanded, squinting her eyes and cocking her head. Why couldn't just one of this team's missions go right? They had returned through the gate not five minutes ago, uninjured, but down one teammate.

"The Wraith found us on the planet, and culled Sheppard. That's what I mean," McKay snarled in his not-quite-as-intimidating-as-Ronon way.

"They were after him specifically," Ronon supplied. "They never went after the locals, they zeroed in right on us. Teyla and McKay took cover in the trees, and the Wraith didn't even try and go after them. They kept aiming their beams at Sheppard until they nailed him, then took off." And he'd failed to protect him. He would have gladly jumped into the culling beam with him if he could have.

Weir looked between the three of them incredulously. "Do you have any idea why?" All three shook their heads no. "And we have no way of trying to find him." McKay shook his head again.

All of them felt lost, not knowing what to do. The Daedalus was still two weeks away, if they could even help. Elizabeth wanted to cry, but was unable to accept the idea of John being gone. They had to find him. Rodney could do anything… if anyone could find Sheppard, it was him.

"I don't know what you expect me to do," he muttered, defeated.

"You'll think of something, Rodney. Colonel Sheppard is depending on you," Elizabeth told him. She was too.

x X x X x X x

Pins and needles were sticking into his arms and legs all over, making them ache along with his head. Searing light was burning a hole in his brain, and his heart was beating quick enough to make his chest hurt. This stunning thing was becoming a far too familiar nuisance.

"I know you're awake Colonel Sheppard," sounded a familiar multi-tonal voice of a Wraith.

Immediately his eyes flew open, and he was alarmed to find himself resting supine with Michael standing over him. He tried to lash out with his fists, only to feel the harsh tug of restraints. He was strapped to a hard table on a hive-ship, bound at his wrists, ankles, and waist. Michael laughed as Sheppard seethed. This was not good.

"What is this?" Sheppard demanded. "What's going on?"

Michael continued to smirk as he watched Sheppard struggle against his restraints. "This Colonel Sheppard, is sweet revenge… poetic justice, if you will. You had me at your mercy time and time again, and now I am repaying the favor."

Sheppard did not like where this was going. Michael had proven long ago that he was capable of anything. Why was he on a table and not in a cell or cocoon? "What are you going to do to me?"

"The same thing you did to me," Michael watched Sheppard with hard eyes filled with hatred and betrayal. "You took away my identity, my memories… even my species. I want you to know exactly how that feels." He held up a loaded syringe for Sheppard to see.

Sheppard's brow furrowed in confusion. Was Michael going to give him Beckett's serum? The only problem with that was he was already human. Would it strip his memories away anyway? Was that what Michael wanted? That seemed a little far-fetched when a simple head wound would have done the same thing. When in doubt, turn to sarcasm. "You know, you shouldn't play with pointy objects. Someone could lose an eye."

Michael smiled at Sheppard's defiance before roughly grabbing his arm and sticking the needle in the elbow. Sheppard grunted and Michael depressed the plunger, patting Sheppard's arm when he was done.

"What was that?" Sheppard demanded.

"Do you enjoy being human?" Michael countered. "Do you enjoy the weak body, the vulnerable flesh? Do you like having to eat dead food three times a day, everyday, and excreting it back out again? Are such tasks truly worth being the prey in this eternal hunt of ours?

Aside from what few Wraith who escaped with me from that miserable planet you left us on, I am probably the only one who can answer those questions truthfully. I have been both hunter and prey, twice. I assure you, it is far better to be the hunter. I have done you a favor."

"You're turning me into a Wraith?" Sheppard was incredulous. Was that even possible?

"The good Doctor Beckett and I had a great deal of time to get to know each other. He told me all about his formula. It was simple to reverse engineer it to do the opposite." Michael shrugged. "In a few hours, you will be a Wraith, and you will forget your human life. You will feed, and you will know what power is."

"That's a bad plan," Sheppard offered. "What's the point of making more Wraith when you're already overpopulated?"

"We still have your gas to turn other Wraith into humans, so population won't be an issue much longer. You are the first to undergo this treatment, and I doubt many more will follow. It is something we reserve for our special enemies. Dr. Beckett will follow you I'm sure. Perhaps even the runner. I do appreciate irony. That's probably it." Michael explained.

Sheppard was about to let Michael know exactly what he thought of this plan when he felt the first hot spikes tearing through his veins, making him forget the outside world. He arched of the table with a gasp, although he didn't get very far with his waist strapped down. He clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind, as more and more waves of agony encompassed his world.

Every last part of his body hurt, including parts he was sure he didn't have. His bones felt like they were on the rack, being pulled apart and stretched more than they were ever meant to. His nose felt broken as it was smashed into his face, making it hard to breath until he felt his cheeks stretching and tearing, forming air holes like a fish. His eyes were on fire, destroying his vision, and melting into the back of his sockets.

Everything was on fire, and he was restricted from rolling and thrashing in his pain. His stomach turned in on itself, and began eating his other organs. His chest heaved as he screamed in pain. His vocal chords compressed, deepening his voice. His throat burned as more flaps grew next to his original vocal chords, giving his screams the multi-tonal sound of a Wraith's.

Then the worst of it happened as he felt someone take an axe to his hands and split them open, gouging his palms in half as the little life-sucking mouths added to his agony. The pain encompassed everything, and it was all he knew.

x X x X x X x

Michael watched in satisfaction as Sheppard squirmed and wreathed for hours. He hadn't screamed that much in the video the Lanteans had made of his transformation, he was sure of it.

Sheppard's skin turning green was the first obvious change Michael could see. Next his hair turned white, and his eyes, when open, were a fierce blue. Overall, he considered it a much more attractive look. Sheppard did Wraith well.

The last change to occur was the feeding mechanisms in the hands. Michael was surprised at that… he had thought it would happen sooner in the process. With a shrug, he dismissed it. As long as they were there, that was all that mattered. He couldn't wait to make Sheppard feed. Once he did that, there'd be no going back to the innocent human.

Finally the screams stopped, and Sheppard lay dazed and panting on the table. Taking his cue, Michael entered his line of sight. "Welcome to the ranks, Sheppard." He saw no reason to change the man's name; it would add to his shame later.

Sheppard's confused ice blue eyes locked on his. He felt wisps of fingertips on his mind and knew that Sheppard had instinctually felt the mental connection. Michael grinned. Good. He invited himself into Sheppard's mind and was please with what he saw. Confusion, disorientation, fear, and best of all, hunger. No memories, no hatred, just a normal, innocent Wraith mind.

"Where am I?" Sheppard rasped with his Wraith-voice.

"Home," Michael answered, enjoying being on the controlling end of the game this time. "You were injured in a battle with another hive, that is why you feel so strange. Rest assured, our enemy has been taken care of." Michael placed a concocted picture of the battle in Sheppard's mind to convince him of the truth. Having nothing else to go on, Sheppard accepted it.

"You must be famished," Michael commented as he undid the straps tying Sheppard to the table. Sheppard watched in confusion as he did so. "You were thrashing quite a bit in your confusion," Michael explained. To Michael's disappointment, Sheppard meekly nodded. Michael hope this meekness would disappear once he became more oriented; there was no point to this if Sheppard lost his spirit so soon.

Helping his fellow Wraith to rise, Michael guided Sheppard down the dark corridor which was perfectly lit to their nocturnal eyes. They walked until they came to the nearest cocoon. Inside was a human male, watching them dully. "Feed," Michael encouraged Sheppard.

Sheppard stared at the human, feeling unsure and hesitant. Something about this felt wrong, though he had no idea what. There was a strange reluctance in him, making him not want to feed. The man's defeated brown eyes watched him through the webbing of the cocoon, knowing he was going to die. The more Sheppard stared, the more he wanted to rip the man free of his prison and get him out of there.

Michael watched in annoyance as Sheppard stood staring at the creature. What was the delay? Did he not know how to feed? He lifted Sheppard's unresisting arm while simultaneously driving images of feeding into his mind, silently compelling his to consume the morsel.

Sheppard felt his hand resting on the human's chest, felt the heart beating sluggishly beneath it. Images assaulted his mind, telling him how good this would feel, how natural, how right. He shook his head no, trying to understand the source of his reticence. His hand twitched as he wavered.

The man moaned as his sharp nails raked lines into his vulnerable flesh. Sheppard had barely flexed his fingers and yet the human was torn and in so much pain. How easily he broke. It was laughable.

It was weakness.

He felt his hand clench, injecting something into the human to toughen him up as he began to draw his life. Sweet bliss flooded his hand, up his arm, and into the rest of his body. An ache he hadn't even realized he felt disappeared with the power coursing through him. He closed his eyes in contentment and through his head back as he was filled with ecstasy. This was right; this was how things were supposed to be.

He felt the moment the human died and the bliss ended. "No," he moaned. He wanted it back, wanted more.

Michael's hands rested on his shoulders. "Next time you must feed slower, and make it last." He laughed triumphantly as Sheppard projected his need for more. "Soon, Sheppard. As we speak this ship is making its way to a feeding ground. Do you want to help cull the herd?"

Michael's life was complete when Sheppard eagerly nodded yes.


	2. Culling

The citizens of Serama were enjoying a quiet night when the Stargate opened and six darts came through. They could hear the whiz of the engines as they flew overhead, and people gathered their family members as close as possible. They ran from their houses screaming, trying to find what cover they could.

The white beams descended from the ships, scooping up the inhabitants as they passed. Images of Wraith appeared in the woods, scaring people into unwittingly staying in plain sight.

The Wraith known as Sheppard watched them scatter from inside his dart, and he laughed. It was so much fun to chase them and watch them scatter. Half of his loops around the village were for no other purpose than fright. It was sad how mindless they were in their fear. It made rounding them up into groups to be culled at the same time all that much easier.

He would get to feed again tonight; Michael had promised. It would taste good, and then the ache that was already forming in his gut would be appeased.

When the Wraith had gathered their fill, Sheppard felt it like a buzzer in the back of his mind. His queen was sending him the message to stop, to leave some of the herd alive for later culling. She was wise.

He flew his dart back through the gate, relishing the challenge of navigating his ship through such a small hole at high speeds. Threading the needle, it was called. Who had told him that?

The dart emerged from the gate into space where the hive was waiting for him. As he got closer, the hive's auto-piloting system took over and he relaxed. He ran his hands along the sides of the dart, savoring the feel. Nothing was like flying. Not even feeding.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered that the dart felt wrong, that it was too confining. Ships were meant to be open and seat more people. Unless he was in atmosphere, then a one-person craft was fine. But it should shake when he flew really fast. But that wasn't right, was it? Darts didn't shake. They were all he'd ever flown, right?

Michael was waiting for him when he landed. "How was the culling?" He seemed anxious for Sheppard's answer.

"It was amazing." Sheppard patted the hood of the dart. Hood? What was a hood? "This thing sure can fly."

Michael's smile seemed frozen in place. He didn't want to talk about the stupid ship; he wanted Sheppard to think about the herd. "Did you enjoy watching the humans run for their lives?"

"They aren't very smart, are they?" Sheppard offered. He looked at Michael and saw the fake smile, as he sensed the false camaraderie. What did he want him to say? That it sickened him to frighten people like that? That there had to be a better way to cull a herd? Michael seemed to relish the hunt too much for such answers to be prudent.

"No, they're not," Michael agreed. "Shall we enjoy the fruits of our labor?"

Michael walked off, leaving Sheppard to follow him down the hall leading to rows of cells filled with the herd they'd just captured. Many were crying or shouting. "Please, let us go!" One woman begged.

Michael stopped to stare at her. She would do. He mentally signaled the drone guarding the cell that he had selected her. The drone opened the door and pulled her out, dragging her behind him. Michael led the way to a room with a long table, laden with human food. The drone pushed the woman into a chair as Michael and Sheppard took up their own at the opposite end.

"You must be hungry, dear woman," Michael crooned at her. "Eat you fill."

The table held a wide variety of food, and the thin woman seemed torn between it and the three Wraith watching her. The food won out, and she began to eat, nibbling at first, and then progressing to hasty bites.

Something about this scene was familiar to Sheppard, but he had no idea why. The woman had his full attention. She was bursting with the life force he so desperately craved. His stomach twisted watching her, so close, yet Michael was silently pressuring him to show restraint.

Would this hunger never end?

The longer he sat watching her eating, becoming stronger, healthier, with each bite, the more he wanted to leap across the table and latch his hand onto her chest. He watched her breasts heave up and down as she took big bites that left her gasping. It sounded like she was crying while she ate, but he couldn't spare any attention for her face. It was all about the chest.

He would put his hand just there, between her breasts, right over he heart, and beckon the sweet life to come to him. She would tremble beneath him, giving up all she had so he could feel right. And then it would be over, and his gut would give him a few hours peace until he became hungry again.

Michael began to stalk quietly toward her as she finished her meal, Sheppard mirroring him. They were halfway to her when she noticed them. With a shriek, she stood, knocking over her chair, and backed up. Sheppard and Michael were on her in an instant. Michael held her shoulders, running a finger across her cheek. "Shh," he comforted.

She stopped moving, but began sobbing harder, begging. "Please, don't do this, please…."

Sheppard's eyes dropped from her face, mentally tracing the path to her heart. His hand rose, and he let it rest gently on her sternum. "Please…" she kept whispering.

His gut flared, and he sank his fingers into her, sighing with release as the rightness flowed again. As with last time, it ended to quickly, and he was left with an empty husk. Michael was watching him expectantly. "Does it ever go away?" he asked.

"Does what?" Michael returned, confused.

"The hunger," Sheppard clarified. He was confused himself. Why didn't he know this? Why was feeding so unfamiliar?

Sadness passed fleetingly through Michael's face, and Sheppard recognized it as the first genuine emotion he'd seen yet. "Why don't I take you to meet some friends of ours? I've been hogging all your time ever since you recovered."

Without further ado, Michael led him out of the room. "Don't you need to feed?" Sheppard asked, knowing he certainly hadn't shared his meal.

Michael unwillingly felt touched by Sheppard's concern. He smashed it down firmly, knowing it was a leftover human trait from his recent experience, one he needed to be rid of. Wraith were survivors, not sappy idiots. That was reserved for food. "I'm fine," was all he answered.

They arrived at a room where four Wraith, carefully selected by the queen, were waiting. They nodded at the newcomers, gesturing to two empty seats at their table. Michael and Sheppard sat. Michael's attention was on the black and red stones sitting in grooves built in to the table, while Sheppard's was on his fellow Wraith. One was looking at him curiously, while the other three were obviously forcing themselves to look at the game on the table. Weird.

"Feel like playing some Herd Hunt?" Michael asked, indicating the table.

"What is it?" Sheppard asked.

One of the Wraith who'd been ignoring him laughed. "The black stones are the herd, the red are the warriors. You move the warriors around to gather the herd. Warriors can move in any direction, and if you have three warriors next to each other, they form a dart, and can jump over a spot. The herd can only move forward and backwards. You have to round them up in groups of four, and then they are culled. The Wraith who collects the largest herd wins."

Ah, a game of strategy. He could do that. It actually sounded vaguely familiar, if slightly off. Sheppard took that as a sign that he must have played it before. "I'm in," he agreed.

The one who'd explained the game went first, then the one who'd been staring at him. Each player took turns moving their stones around, mocking each other's poor movements as they went. By the end, Sheppard had the largest herd, followed closely by Michael. The four Wraith bothered Sheppard. They could have played much better if they'd worked together. Instead they were constantly trying to steal each other's herds, thus letting many stones escape. Michael and Sheppard had started working together unconsciously at some point, hence their win.

"Hey, you're good at this," the laughing one said.

They played several more games, and Sheppard found himself relaxing into the banter. Most of the others liked to boast when they stole someone's herd, but Sheppard preferred to remain silent, so they forgot to guard their herds against him.

He won every game and laughed the whole way through it.

A few hours later, the game broke up and they went their separate ways. Michael led Sheppard back to the room he'd first woken up in. "What's going on?" Sheppard asked.

"You need to take your medicine again," Michael answered.

"What medicine? I feel fine."

Michael let out a huff like he was suffering the stubbornness of a child. At least Sheppard wasn't blindly obeying him anymore… that had been creepy. "You feel fine now, but you were injured and you will feel sick later if you do not take this. Are you remembering things yet?"

Was he? He had vague feelings, most of which were telling him something wasn't right, but no actual memories. He shook his head no. His instincts told him his 'medicine' had something to do with his misgivings.

"Your memories will never come back if you do not allow me to heal you," Michael explained.

"Are you my doctor?" John asked. John. Where had that come from? But it was right. John. Sheppard. John Sheppard. He was John Sheppard. Why didn't the other Wraith have names, just him and Michael? And Michael had a funny voice for a doctor. It shouldn't sound like that. It should be melodic and… different. Sheppard – John – lacked the words to describe what was wrong.

Michael was becoming annoyed at Sheppard's procrastination, but he knew he had to allow it. Sheppard needed to know what he was doing so that later, his plan would succeed. "I'm as good as," Michael answered, forcefully lifting Sheppard's arm. Sheppard pulled it taunt, watching Michael's cold face, before acquiescing and exposing the crook of his elbow.

Michael smiled at him and patted him on the arm when he was done. "There, that wasn't so bad." The tension in Sheppard's mind eased, and he forgot his doubts. Why would Michael hurt him? He wasn't competition.

x X x X x X x

Several more days passed on the hive-ship. Sheppard flew a dart during two more cullings, and played Herd Hunt with various Wraith afterwards. He was not allowed to feed on days when their was no culling, thus adding to the thrill when he was able to participate. The days in between without feeding were miserable and traumatic. His innards felt swollen and abused, as if someone had been beating him mercilessly for hours. His skin would feel too tight, his muscles ached, and his bones felt heavy.

At least none of the other Wraith were feeding between cullings either. Well, the queen was, but that was okay.

The whole time Michael rarely left his side. Every night before he went to sleep, Michael gave him his medicine, always waiting until his head hurt and his mind was swarmed with confusing feelings to give it to him.

"Why aren't I remembering anything yet?" Sheppard asked Michael, seven nights after his first culling.

"You will," Michael reassured. "I have a feeling you will very soon."

The next night, Michael did not give him his shot. "You're ready to go without it," was the only explanation offered.

Sheppard didn't sleep well that night. The feeling that something was very wrong would not let up, and eventually he drifted into a fitful sleep racked with images of being surrounded by the herd, laughing and jesting with them as he had over Herd Hunt. He remembered traveling through the gate with humans, and not hunting them. Instead, he was the hunted. In his dreams, he killed Wraith.

Memories of individual humans erupted, and specific faces came to mind. There was a woman with cappuccino skin and a warm smile, who tripped him with sticks. There was a giant of a man who didn't talk much, but always had his back. And there was one guy who wouldn't shut up, but evoked the strongest affectionate feelings of them all.

Sheppard awoke gasping. He knew those people, those humans. Why would a Wraith know any of the herd? This wasn't right. He raced out of his room to find Michael, who slept just two doors down the hall. Sheppard's fist connected soundly with the door over and over again, producing thundering echoes down the halls.

Michael opened his door with a disgruntled look, demanding "What?"

"Why do I know humans?" Sheppard gasped. "I dreamed about them tonight. Why?"

Michael appeared unsurprised by this revelation. "Do you want to see them?" he asked.

"You know who they are?" Sheppard's world was falling to pieces and Michael had all the answers. That alone sent shivers down his spine. He hated needing someone, anyone. He didn't know much, but he knew he was used to acting on his own.

Michael nodded. "I'll take you to them tomorrow. You will stay with them, and you will not feed on them. Do you understand?"

Sheppard was confused. Why would he stay amongst the herd? That wasn't right. And of course he wouldn't feed on them. He wouldn't do that to them. What kind of monster was… he?

It hit him. He was a monster. He looked down at his hands, inspecting the slits in the center of each palm. Whereas before, he hadn't given them a second thought, now they seemed like monstrosities. "What's wrong with me?" he whispered.

Michael sighed and pulled him into his room. "Rest," he ordered. "Everything will be made clear tomorrow."

Sheppard stumbled into Michael's rumpled bed, absorbed in his questions. He didn't notice Michael sitting in a chair, watching him as he idled the night, thinking.

x X x X x X x

"Wear this," Michael ordered, handing him a neat pile of blue/grey clothes.

"What are these?" Sheppard inspected the black t-shirt like it was going to bite him.

"Just do it." Patience was not always one of Michael's virtues.

Sheppard reluctantly shucked his long leather coat and pants. Yes, they were starting to feel weird on him, but they were the only clothes he knew. The new shirt fit him perfectly, and the pants slid on much more comfortably than he had expected. Maybe these human clothes wouldn't be so bad after all. The short jacket added the final touch.

"I feel like a human," he joked. Michael didn't seem to think it was all that funny.

They walked to the landing bay where Michael seated himself in a dart and told Sheppard to wait for him. Once the dart was in the air, the white beam descended over Sheppard, and they were gone.

Michael landed on the nearest planet with a Stargate, and rematerialized Sheppard. Fortunately, the stunner did not affect Wraith physiology like a human's, and Sheppard was left only mildly dizzy for a few minutes. Once he had regained his bearings, they approached the DHD.

Michael dialed an address that Sheppard thought looked familiar. The blue wormhole opened and Michael tapped a familiar radio in his ear. "Dr. Weir," he called.

"Michael?" came a surprised voice.

"It is indeed." Michael confirmed.

"What do you want?" she demanded. She sounded like a tough woman. Sheppard thought it was odd that he should be admiring something in a human.

"I have Sheppard," at this, Michael's eyes locked on Sheppard, watching his reactions to the conversation. "He wants to return."

"And what do you want?" Weir demanded.

Michael smiled. "I want to let him, of course. I know you do not trust me, Dr. Weir, and I will not ask you to. I will leave this planet and Sheppard will remain. Feel free to lower the shield for him, or pick him up at your leisure. Or leave him entirely, I don't care which." Michael grinned at Sheppard as he said this, lest he panic. Fortunately, Sheppard seemed to understand what Michael was doing and was not alarmed.

"Why would you do that?" Weir asked a lot of questions, Sheppard thought.

"Because my task is complete. I am going now. His future is in your hands." With that, the wormhole closed and Michael turned to Sheppard. "I am leaving now. They'll come for you."

With that, Michael walked off, leaving Sheppard to wonder what was going to happen to him. Why had Weir's voice sounded so familiar?


	3. Guess Who

"You still have no idea what it does?" Dr. Weir asked forlornly, looking at the Ancient device in Rodney's hand.

"No… I can't even get it to turn on," Rodney grumbled. "I'm sure if we had Colonel Sheppard here, he'd have it up and glowing in a heartbeat, but the situation as it is… no, I have no idea. Yet."

And once more something appeared in their everyday life to rub the loss of John in their faces. Neither Rodney nor Elizabeth had realized how much they'd come to rely on the man until he was gone. "You'll think of something," Dr. Weir assured.

Rodney nodded dejectedly, and turned to leave her office, no doubt heading for his lab, when one of the gate techs announced, "Unscheduled off-world activation!"

Dr. Weir ran out of her office, joining McKay looking over the tech's shoulder. "No IDC," he reported.

"Dr. Weir," transmitted a familiar, if unwelcome voice.

"Michael?" Dr. Weir queried.

"It is indeed." Michael confirmed.

"What do you want?" she demanded. Apparently Sheppard hadn't killed him on the planet. What mischief was he up to now? Last time he had brought the most disastrous alliance she had ever negotiated with him.

"I have Sheppard," Michael said to everyone's surprise. "He wants to return."

Elizabeth and Rodney exchanged looks. Something about this whole situation screamed 'trap!'

"And what do _you_ want?" Weir demanded. He wouldn't have gone through all the effort to kidnap Sheppard for no reason.

"I want to let him, of course. I know you do not trust me, Dr. Weir, and I will not ask you to. I will leave this planet and Sheppard will remain. Feel free to lower the shield for him, or pick him up at your leisure. Or leave him entirely, I don't care which."

"Why would you do that?" Trap was beginning to sound like an understatement.

"Because my task is complete. I am going now. His future is in your hands." With that, the gate promptly shut down, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

"We have to go get him!" McKay immediately decided.

"Wait Rodney," she cautioned. "Nothing is right about this situation." She tapped her radio. "Major Lorne, I need to see you in the Gate Room double time."

"I'm here, ma'am." Like magic, Lorne appeared from the door right behind them.

"Did you see what just happened?" Dr. Weir asked.

"I did, ma'am," he nodded. "We should send a MALP to check it out. If there's even a chance that he has Sheppard, we need to check it out."

"Alright," that sounded safe enough, "send one through."

Minutes later the MALP began transmitting a rather disturbing image. There was a lone Wraith waiting calmly behind the DHD, dressed in an Atlantis issue uniform. "What game is Michael playing now? That's a Wraith!" Dr. Weir's suspicions were going through the roof.

"The MALP isn't picking up any other life signs," McKay offered.

"That's good enough for me," Lorne agreed. "Permission to take a team and check it out, ma'am?"

"It's a Wraith, not John," she said flatly.

"He's wearing the Colonel's uniform," Lorne pointed out. "He may know where he is. We should definitely check it out."

"And if there're darts, waiting to cull you as you go through the gate?" Weir countered.

"The MALP would have picked up any nearby darts. If any approach from farther than the MALP can detect, we'll have time to return through the gate before they can get us." Lorne explained.

"And if they come through the gate?" Weir still wasn't buying it.

"So we take a jumper with us," McKay said impatiently. "The point is, that Wraith knows where Sheppard is. We can't let our only hope of getting him back just walk away without trying something!"

Dr. Weir looked between the two resolute men before capitulating. "Fine. But be careful."

"We will," they both assured her as Lorne called over his radio for a team to man a cloaked jumper. He called another team to meet Dr. McKay and himself at the gate, wanting to hide the fact that they were even bringing a jumper from the Wraith.

The tech dialed the coordinates to the planet Michael had just messaged from, nodding good luck to the heavily armed team below. Teyla and Ronon had joined Lorne and McKay, along with two marines. Without hesitation the six went through, instantly training their P-90s on the Wraith upon emerging on the other side.

"Throw down your weapons and raise your hands in the air where I can see them!" Lorne ordered from a safe distance.

The Wraith looked at them strangely for a moment before slowly raising both arms. "I'm unarmed," he called. The voice was Wraith, but McKay thought there was something disturbingly familiar about it.

The team cautiously stepped forward, keeping an eye out for the inevitable traps. The Wraith watched them, but otherwise made no movement. McKay was grateful for the jumper he knew was somewhere, silently watching their backs… and the tops of their heads.

"Where's Sheppard?" Ronon asked when he was no more than ten feet from the Wraith. He held his stunner threateningly, longing to blast the hated face into pieces.

They were close enough now to confirm that the uniform was definitely Sheppard's, down to the slight burn on the left sleeve he'd earned on a previous mission. He hadn't replaced the jacket, claiming he was out of spares from all his many infirmary-worthy injuries over the past two years. McKay was suddenly glad he hadn't gotten rid of the thing, despite how often he'd teased the man about it.

The Wraith's brow furrowed in confusion. "I am Sheppard."

Ronon snorted.

McKay's wanted to do the same, but his damn over-active brain was cataloguing every minor detail he saw whether he wanted to or not. The Wraith had the same unique hair cut that McKay though made up for ninety percent of Sheppard's charm with the ladies. It even held itself like Sheppard. He was no artist, but he could allow himself to imagine… if the skin wasn't green, if the eyes were hazel… they were the right shape… if he were, oh, human… the Wraith did look alarmingly like Sheppard.

"If you're Sheppard, how'd you suddenly become a Wraith?" Ronon demanded.

The Wraith's confusion seemed to grow, and the soldiers were well aware of the way its body tensed. "What do you mean?"

"Colonel Sheppard is human. You're a Wraith," McKay said as if he were patronizing a child.

"You're McKay," the Wraith said, as if that were some surprising discovery.

McKay just rolled his eyes. "Very good. Now answer my question."

The Wraith seemed to be smiling, if that were at all possible. No not smiling – smirking -- just a half-hearted raising of one corner of his mouth. It was a very Sheppard smirk. This situation was getting stranger by the moment.

"I _do_ know you," the Wraith said as if it had been in doubt. He seemed to come to a decision, and his body relaxed again. "I woke up strapped to a table on the hive. Michael told me I'd been injured. I felt fine, but I had lost my memories. He gave me a shot every night; he said it would help me heal. I think it was just keeping my memories suppressed. He didn't give me on last night, and I've started remembering bits and pieces. He said he would leave me to you to explain the rest. Can you?" he challenged.

McKay exchanged appraising looks with his team. It sounded like a backwards version of the toxin they were using against the Wraith. What this Wraith seemed to be suggesting was that the Wraith were now fighting fire with fire. But that didn't make any sense.

"How do we know Michael didn't just find a Wraith who looked like Sheppard and told him some details to make the acting convincing? He knows the effects of the toxin better than anyone," Lorne asked quietly.

"If he's telling the truth, and I'm not saying he is, then if he stops receiving the treatments he should start becoming human again within a day… hence the nightly injections." McKay contemplated. "We could take him back to Atlantis and see if he changes."

"That's a rather big risk, McKay," Lorne mentioned.

"Wraith," Teyla called sharply. The Wraith's attention zeroed in on her. The two stood staring at each other silently before the Wraith looked away and Teyla shook herself out. "This Wraith feels different," she offered. "He honestly thinks of himself as Sheppard, and I sense no ill will."

"You sure about this?" Ronon asked, looking between Teyla and McKay. They both nodded, and before the Wraith could even twitch Ronon had him stunned.

x X x X x X x

Sheppard watched the humans walking through the gate in fascination. These were them; the people in his dreams! But unlike in his dreams, their faces were expressionless, and their movements hostile. They had not come to greet a friend.

"Throw down your weapons and raise your hands in the air where I can see them!" one of them ordered him. The order confused him. He wasn't armed and never had been. Come to think of it, he hadn't held a weapon at any time during his stay aboard the hive. He hadn't even noticed before, but now that he thought of it, he felt naked without a weapon.

"Where's Sheppard?" What was with the annoying questions? Wasn't he the one with Amenesia? He was Sheppard! Weren't they supposed to know him?

They continued to ask him questions that made no sense, and he could feel a tension headache building. His temper might have been less if he'd only been able to _sleep_ the night before. He could feel the hunger demanding he lash out at these insignificant walking meals for threatening him. He fought the urge, reminding himself that he had summoned them, not the other way around. He was beginning to wonder why, and the hunger made it hard to concentrate.

One human in particular kept throwing questions at him. It was grating on his nerves, yet it felt far too familiar. McKay was always badgering him about something. That's it! That was his name. They had names like he and Michael did. "I _do_ know you," he told the human, releaved to finally have some proof that these people were indeed more than a fragmented dream.

McKay didn't seem to understand what he meant, but that was okay. He was finally starting to sound like he would give Sheppard a chance… which was really all he was asking for.

But what did he mean when he said Sheppard was a human? He was a Wraith. He might be a little lacking in the memory department, but he could still tell the difference between a human and Wraith. How could whatever medicine Michael had been giving him turn him into a different creature altogether?

"Wraith," the female called. He felt the words echo ever so quietly in his head. He could feel her just outside his mind, demanding entrance, yet unable to force her way in like his fellow Wraith did. How could she communicate this way?

To his own surprise, he found that he trusted this woman, and he allowed her to look inside his mind. She scanned his surface thoughts, understanding his confusion, before digging deeper. He tried to hide the hunger from her, but she must have sensed it even if she did not mention it to the other humans. More importantly, she recognized his genuine need to reconnect with these people.

He was relieved when she withdrew and spoke in his favor to the others. He also was starting to feel embarrassed for some reason. He didn't like appearing weak in front of these people, and he knew he was. Every bone in his body screamed that he did not want them to see him like this, whatever this was.

Caught up in his shame, he didn't even see the angry one fire a red burst at him.


	4. The Waiting Game

To his disappointment, the sight that waited for him when he returned to consciousness was not a familiar one. The room was dimly lit like on the hive, but the floor he was sprawled half-hazzardly across was hard and unwelcoming. More importantly were the bars stretching horizontally across his vision. Dragging his stiff arms to him, Sheppard pushed against the floor, levering himself onto his knees for a better look. He was in a cage.

The bearded man had shot him. He had an inkling that hadn't been the first time either. He could remember waking up, in pain, in a white room, asking if Ronon had shot him. Ronon. Apparently not everyone here was his 'friend' after all. He'd have to make sure his malfunctioning brain remembered that at least.

Sheppard's whole body felt stiff and sore, and he had a feeling he'd been lying on the floor for several hours. The humans had shot and caged him. This was just wrong. They had NO right to do this to him!

He sent his mind through space, tendrils of his thoughts reaching for the only friendly presence he knew. He made contact with Michael, only to feel the other Wraith push him away with a snarl. Reeling, Sheppard crashed back into his own mind, allowing his shoulders to slump.

He was rejected by both sides. What had he done to deserve this?

x X x X x X x

Elizabeth watched the Wraith pacing back and forth in his cell through the security cameras, feeling ill at ease. She had sent her people to the planet to bring back John, and instead they came home with a Wraith. Granted, it was a Wraith claiming to be John, but could it really be possible? With their population problems such as they are, what possible reason could the Wraith have for developing a serum to convert other creatures into Wraith? It just didn't make sense.

The Wraith never stopped moving, never deviated course, never slowed down. He reached one end of the cell, turned, and paced to the other end. It was a dizzying pattern, and Elizabeth wondered why he bothered. There was no chance that they would ever feed him; he had to know that, so why was he wasting the energy.

Staring at his face, Elizabeth realized she had never seen a Wraith look so… lost. Usually they were shouting death threats and bragging about the superiority of their kind by now. According to the guards on duty, this one hasn't spoken a word since he woke up. He was a puzzle all right, but she thrived on mental power plays. If it led to rescuing Colonel Sheppard, she would figure this Wraith out if it was the last thing she did.

x X x X x X x

McKay ambled into the room behind Elizabeth, absently munching on a power bar. Without a word, he sat down on the stool next to hers and began his own study of the prisoner.

"He still hasn't said anything?" McKay asked.

"No, not one word," confirmed Weir.

McKay shared his colleague's sentiments on the Wraith's odd behavior, but at the same time, couldn't help himself from considering how the Colonel might react in a situation like this. If Sheppard _had_ been subjected to the toxin, his memories would be suppressed, and he would most likely be horribly confused by the situation. As his teammate, McKay was intimately aware of the way Sheppard responded to stressful situations. When the goal was clear, Sheppard attacked. But when there was doubt, Sheppard tended to clam up until he understood what was happening a little better. As much as he hated to admit it, the Wraith's silence spoke in its favor.

But why the angry pacing? Was he that mad at Ronon for shooting him? Between Thalan and the Iratus Bug incidents, Ronon and Sheppard have shot each other plenty of times. Both times, they had gotten over it. There had to be more to the pacing than that.

McKay watched the Wraith stuff his hands into his pockets as he paced. After a minute, he took them back out again. Before long, they were hidden once more. This happened several times, and each time the Wraith seemed completely unaware of it. McKay was struck by the human-ness of the gesture. As far as he knew, Wraith clothing didn't have pockets, yet this one clearly had an unconscious habit of using them….

Huh.

x X x X x X x

"You can't go in there," Ronon snarled at Teyla, desperately trying to talk his teammate out of a foolhardy plan.

"I'm going to speak to him, Ronon," Teyla rolled her eyes. "You are welcome to accompany me, but I am going."

"Even after what happened with Michael when you went to talk to him?" Ronon argued. "He took over your mind and made you release him." _He got away because of you,_ was the unspoken thought that Teyla knew wasn't really meant to hurt her. Ronon just didn't want history to repeat itself.

"I will not be alone this time," Teyla assured him. "I will be fine."

"Teyla…" he started.

"Ronon, you don't know what it's like," Teyla cut him off. "I saw inside his mind, and I know he's hurting. He's not like the other Wraith. I believe this really is Colonel Sheppard."

"It's a Wraith, that's all it is," Ronon growled heatedly. _Why didn't they all see that?_ There was only one way to deal with a Wraith and it was strapped comfortably against his hip, begging for use.

Teyla did not respond this time, merely continued towards the cell where the Wraith was held. As she arrived at the door, she could feel his mind ghosting over hers, touching but not invading. As soon as Sheppard realized he'd successfully touched another mind, he jerked back as if burned. Teyla frowned. It reminded her of a reflexive action not dissimilar to trying to feel a limb that was no longer there. She had it every time she cut her hair and would go to tie it back, only to realize there was nothing to tie. Sheppard probably didn't even realize he was doing it.

Continuing through the door, Teyla entered the room with Ronon right behind her. Sheppard stopped pacing and backed into a corner defensively when he saw Ronon. The runner grinned in satisfaction and fingered his blaster. _Oh, for the pleasure…._

"Hello," Teyla offered, diverting the Wraith's attention. She could feel his mind pull tightly in on itself, determined not to make contact again. Smiling, Teyla instead sent her mind out to his, softly resting her mental presence within easy reach. This close, she could feel his desperate confusion, bordering on despair. Something else must have happened to him recently for him to be hurting this much.

"It's all right," she tried to assure him, brushing her mind up a little closer to his. She could feel him battling the need to pounce on her thought and smother himself in them.

"What do you want?" Sheppard demanded. He was tired of these human's and Michael's games. Everyone seemed to know what was going on except him, and no one was all that inclined to let him in on the fun. And now, this one was dangling the comfort of her thoughts in front of him like a glass of water to a man in the desert, as if he didn't know Ronon would shoot him the instant he accepted her comfort.

"I want to speak to my friend," Teyla answered calmly, walking right up to the bars of the cage, displaying for all that she was not afraid of him. It was a useless gesture with the shield keeping him from reaching between the bars, but sometimes the thought really helped.

"I believe that you are Colonel Sheppard, and I am relieved that you are back in Atlantis where Dr. Beckett can help you," she told him. Knowing that talking probably wasn't going to do much to help the Wraith in this condition, she continued to invade his personal mental space. _It's all right. I won't let Ronon hurt you,_ she assured him.

Ronon continued to scowl at the Wraith, no doubt itching to stun him _again_ , but at least he had stopped trying to provoke Sheppard.

Sheppard eyed Ronon and Teyla. That Ronon wanted to shoot him he had no doubt, but were Teyla's words genuine? Her mind was right there for the manipulating, if he chose. She was leaving herself vulnerable to him. It was a generous display of trust; so much so that he felt his mind tentatively reach out to hers.

The instant they touched, he felt himself relax. On the hive-ship he'd always been surrounded by other Wraith's minds; even if they weren't actively communicating, they were a constant presence. He hadn't realized how comforting that was until he was abandoned to the humans, and left alone to whatever fate they had in store for him. But this one wasn't leaving him. Her mind was a warm blanket of sincerity and friendship, and it brought him the first peace he could remember in a long time.

Ronon watched Teyla's eyes glaze over and knew she wasn't seeing the room anymore. The Wraith was completely entranced by whatever thoughts he and Teyla were sharing. Both stood completely still, but their bodies were relaxed and their faces looked calm, even peaceful.

He didn't like it. The Wraith could be doing anything to Teyla's mind, and she was allowing it! Rule number one in the Pegasus Galaxy: You can never trust a Wraith. It was one he and many others had learned the hard way; Teyla should know better.

Ronon continued to move his hand over his blaster, reassured by its familiar weight; it had kept him alive for seven years and he intended to live for many more.

x X x X x X x

For two days the senior staff of Atlantis continued monitoring the Wraith with baited breath, waiting for the symptoms of reversion to appear that would finally prove that this was truly Colonel Sheppard.

Dr. Carson Beckett waited more anxiously than most. He didn't like to consider the implications of what it would mean if the Wraith really did transform into Sheppard, yet he found himself able to think of little but. It was his formula that had started this whole mess, his and his alone. He had created it without anyone's prodding, and perfected it without anyone forcing him to. Granted he had certainly been _encouraged_ to perfect it into a weapon, but no one had made him.

Now, his cure for the Wraith 'illness' was being turned against his own kind, and his friend had been the first to suffer. He had no doubt that Michael had the ability to reverse engineer the toxin. Michael had spent quite a bit of time learning to from him how to do so. Michael ripping through his mind as if it were his own personal playground had been a painful experience, and the consequences of it were now coming back to haunt him.

All his decisions seemed to haunt him these days. Hoff and Perna were his first strike. The poor girl Elia (and yes, he was willing to consider a Wraith a poor girl... she really had been a sweet child who tried hard to do right) had had to be slaughtered and both an innocent life and a wonderful opportunity had been lost that day because of his meddling with natural evolution. Strike two. Right after that, Colonel Sheppard almost suffered a similar fate to Elia, but Carson had been able to reverse it in time. Carson was a fair man; he'd call that a foul ball.

But what had happened to those Wraith on the planet, and what Sheppard was currently suffering because of his weakness… well that was strike three and he was out. He was a hypocrite. How could he possibly uphold the Hippocratic Oath when all he did was cause harm? He was just as bad as Mengele. Well, maybe not as bad, but close. He was like Rogue from the X-Men; he hurt everything he touched. Maybe he was just jinxed.

He knew the Wraith was Sheppard. Five minutes with him had been more than enough to convince him. All the mannerisms were the same, the body language, the pattern of speech... it was all Sheppard. Dr. Weir still insisted that he be confined until Beckett could be sure, which wouldn't happen until Sheppard's human traits started manifesting again.

Beckett felt sorry for his friend, and had every intention of doing whatever he could to make it up to him while he recovered from this. It was the least he could do. Maybe once he knew Sheppard was okay, he'd return to Earth where he couldn't do any more harm. Clearly he was just as much a plague in this galaxy as many of its local inhabitants.

x X x X x X x

The hunger was a dull ache in his gut that never went away and was constantly reminding him of its requirements. Sheppard longed to feed, but knew it wouldn't happen anytime soon… possibly never again. The first day the hunger pains plagued him endlessly, but now it had changed into a different ache that he couldn't describe. He was still ravenously hungry, but it was different.

Everything was beginning to look different. The room was too dark, and the floor was too cold. More disturbingly, the humans were starting to look less tasty and more… well, more something else. Whatever it was, they weren't sending out the 'eat me!' vibe they had been. But if they weren't going to clench his hunger, what would?

Contradicting instincts were tearing his mind apart. He would surely have gone mad if not for the mercy that was Teyla. Even when she was not with him, she allowed him to feel her thoughts and take comfort in them. When the pacing became too exhausting and the hunger too much, Sheppard withdrew from the humans, and lost himself in Teyla.

x X x X x X x

"There! You see that?" McKay demanding, backing away from his stool and pointing at the screen.

Elizabeth looked at the Wraith more closely, seeking whatever detail had made Rodney so excited. "What is it?" she asked.

"His eyes… they're hazel. Yesterday they were blue. And look at the skin… it isn't so green anymore. Look at that, he's positively rosy." McKay started laughing and clapped his hands together. "It's him. It's really him."

Now that she was looking at the skin tone specifically, she could see the subtle difference that had escaped her previously but had glared at a certain genius. Elizabeth looked carefully at the Wraith on the screen, and for the first time in what felt like forever, smiled.

"Let's get him out of there," she ordered.


	5. Reclaiming a Life

Why did the guards always look at him so strangely? As Sheppard studied the uniformed men who were casually, but alertly, holding their P-90s, he wondered at their attitude. It didn't matter which two guards were in the room, and indeed he rarely saw the same face twice; they all wore the same expression. Confusion and anger were prominent, mixed with distrust and worry. Harder to see, probably because the men were unaware of it themselves, were the pity and fleeting vestiges of hope. The first group of emotions he could understand. They were guarding a prisoner – how else were they supposed to feel? (Although _why_ he was a prisoner was still in question.) But the nagging feelings that had led him here were growing rapidly inside him, causing him to associate more with the less violent responses from his men.

Sheppard caught himself mid-thought. He'd thought of them as 'his men.' A memory of standing before a room filled with men such as the ones guarding him, instructing them, ordering them, and receiving their respect hit him. He studied the memory in awe, taking in the relaxed ease with which he issued his commands. It wasn't the threat of brute force the Wraith used to keep each other in line, but seemed to be based off a system of respect… and trust. At some point, these humans had trusted him. He was surprised at how good that made him feel, how at home, and how much he missed having it.

Sitting alone in a dark cell with nothing to do left him way too much time to think unhealthy thoughts.

The doors opened with a swish, and Sheppard looked up as a man and a woman rushed into the room, looking oddly hurried and wary at the same time. It was the most activity he'd seen since his arrival. Yeah… he was bored.

"Sheppard," the woman addressed him. She was the first to do so by name since he'd arrived, with the exception of Teyla. Either they were finally starting to believe him, or she wanted something. Had she been Wraith, Sheppard had no doubt which one it would be, but humans tended to be full of surprises. "Do you remember me?"

Sheppard studied her carefully, not appreciating the way she held herself as though afraid he'd go on a rampage at any moment. He'd prided himself on self-control his whole life; he wouldn't lose it now.

Wow, where had that thought come from? He continued to remain silent, disturbed by the reactions he was having to everything. What did she expect him to say anyway? _No, but I know I belong here, so let me out of this damn cell and do my job!_ Somehow, he didn't think that would fly. What was his job anyway? Ordering military men around… okay, so a general of some kind?

 _Lt. Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Air Force_ , spoke a voice in his head that sounded just like his own. Well, maybe a little different in tone, more like a human's voice; but it definitely had an attitude that screamed him. For the first time he felt the coolness of the dog tags around his neck, reminding him of who he was. He could feel the presence of Lt. Colonel John Sheppard settling in behind his eyes, watching.

Taking his silence as a refusal to answer, the woman pushed on. "I'm Dr. Weir," she introduced herself. "This is Dr. McKay," she pointed to the man standing next to her. Sheppard remembered him from the planet. He had listened to him on the planet and was now staring at him like his next great science project. This man liked to figure things out, and was now trying to figure him out. _Great, because someone needs to._

"Is everybody a doctor here?" Sheppard quipped. It was a useless comment, but something about this McKay just demanded he say it. The guards were obviously not doctors, and the belated introductions had annoyed him. When was she going to let him out of this cage! He had to figure out what was happening to him, and he couldn't do it locked up.

"Actually only about half of us can claim that honor," McKay informed him. "The rest are your grunts." Sheppard ignored the resentment he felt on behalf of his men. It felt so natural to ignore this man's casual comments. Sheppard sensed he'd had a lot of practice with that.

"What do you say we get you out of this cell," Dr. Weir offered the words he'd been waiting to hear. Dr. Weir continued talking, unaware that she'd lost Sheppard's attention as a different memory of this woman drifted before him.

' _Dr. Weir is dead,' said a cold voice in his ear. Suddenly the cold rain plastering his hair to his head stopped registering as rage consumed every sense he had available. She was dead, and he'd failed her. He would make that scum pay! Any last hope Kolya'd had of taking Atlantis vanished as Sheppard vowed to see the man dead in a very slow, painful fashion. He gripped his P-90 tightly, relishing the use it was about to be put to With an eagerness that surprised him, he shot the men who were hunting him through the base, eliminating the threat to his home while simultaneously reaping his revenge._

"If you will accompany Dr. Beckett to the infirmary, I think you'll find it more comfortable there." Dr. Weir concluded, her last words recapturing Sheppard's attention.

He felt a sense of inexplicable dread at the mention of the infirmary. He didn't think he wanted to go there with these people, being there meant he was hurt, but even so, anywhere had to be better than this cell. "Why now?" he asked. What had changed that they were willing to give him more freedom?

Weir smiled tightly. "We know who you are now, John. We had to be sure first; you understand." Sheppard looked down at his arms, remembering them turning grey and shriveled, trying to hide them from her sight as he approached her in her office. His body may have been mutated by some virus, but even so, they'd been coursing with power that she had refused to let him use, even to save his own life. And she'd expected him to understand.

But she had let him go in the end. And Beckett had done… something to him. His arms had stopped being grey like a sickly Wraith's. Beckett had made them pinkish again, like a human's. He'd had human arms, and been overcome with relief to have them back.

Sheppard felt the blood retreat from his brain as his mind whirled. His chest froze, but his mouth worked overtime, breathing in air too quickly and expelling it before it could reach his lungs. He heard someone cry out as he dropped to his knees, losing all connection to his body. It couldn't be true… it wasn't possible…. He could barely form a complete thought, let alone wrap his brain around the horrifying concept.

He was, or had been, human.

 _NO!_ It wasn't… he wasn't…. He shook his head in denial, closing his eyes and shutting out the world, but it wouldn't go away. "Colonel Sheppard!" someone was calling him, but he wanted nothing to do with it. He wasn't human. He wasn't. He was a Wraith. His name was Sheppard and he was a Wraith.

He vaguely felt Teyla's warm mental presence trying to comfort him, more than aware of his distress, but he lacked the power to acknowledge it. Instead, he repeated his denial like a mantra, desperately trying to hold his reality together. He was unaware of the cold sweat covering his skin, or the gentle prick in his arm, but he was more than welcoming of the oblivion that soon reached out to him.

x X x X x X x

"When's he going to wake up?" Rodney asked, staring at the shaking form on the bed. Normally infirmary patients look young and peaceful when they were asleep. Sheppard just looked haggard and in pain. It was not the way McKay expected to be reunited with his friend.

Beckett sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm keeping him sedated while he undergoes the majority of the reversal. It's got to be confusing enough for him; I think this is kindest." _For all of us,_ he silently thought. Calming a hysterical half-Wraith Sheppard was not a task he cared to undertake. Maybe he was just taking the coward's way out by keeping Sheppard asleep.

"If it's making it easier for him, then why's he shaking so much?" McKay demanded. Since Sheppard had gone into a screaming fit in the cell, his body hadn't stopped shaking. The infirmary bed was rattling under the stress of his trembling. McKay had an inkling that if Sheppard weren't sedated, he'd be all out thrashing.

"He's in pain, both physically and mentally, and his body's reacting," Beckett supplied, taking the Colonel's temperature for what must have been the third time in the past ten minutes. Despite Sheppard's obvious distress, Carson needed to reassure himself that he was really all right, and under his care. He owed the Colonel a lot for this fiasco, and he always payed his debts.

McKay grunted, but left Beckett alone. Cautiously he set his arm against the Colonel's, feeling the quivering ease under his touch. Rodney smiled. It felt nice to be able to offer his friend some comfort while he was out of it. The two men sat vigil, watching the slow changes in Sheppard's palor, feeling one step closer to regaining their friend with each human feature that emerged.

x X x X x X x

He heard his own breathing resounding in his ears, strong and steady. The deep breaths brought with them an antiseptic flavor that stung his nose, but cleared his nasal passages right up. Without opening his eyes, he knew he was in the infirmary.

He knew this, because he'd been here many times before. On Atlantis. It was where he normally expected to wake up after a mission, rather than in that cell. If only it had been a dream.

John Sheppard swallowed convulsively, forcing the muscles in his arms to relax, releasing the crisp sheets he was only just starting to clench. He was all right; he was safe. Beckett wouldn't let anything happen to him in the infirmary of all places. John focused his attention on his breathing, counting to three as he breathed in, then released. He would not lose control over himself and need to be sedated again.

Slowly opening his eyes, he blinked at the familiar white ceiling and its pastel green border. Grit was caked lightly around his eyes, and his lips were parched, so he'd obviously been out for a while. All his muscles ached as if he'd been lifting something twice his own weight. Even his bones felt like they were on fire. Over all though, he just felt funny. Wrong. He felt like he was in someone else's body.

His hands started rubbing up and down his arms, creating a soothing friction. The motion started as a gentle pressure meant just to ground himself, but it was rapidly turning into nails dragging along skin hard enough to draw blood. Feeling the slickness, John looked down at his arms, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was one thing to remember that he'd been human… it was quite another to see the evidence right before his eyes. Both the Wraith and human part of him knew that what he was looking at was just unnatural, and both were equally horrified by the sight of his arm. Long rivets of red smeared by his still scratching nails covered a peachy arm mottled with blue bubbly patches.

A distant memory of the mark Elia had left on his arm surfaced, making him want to just tear the arm off. Why was this happening to him again? The arm was still obviously Wraith in structure, but that was human blood bleeding over human skin he was seeing.

"Sheppard?" A voice tentatively interrupted his very narrow universe.

Slowly, Sheppard lifted his head from the horror of his body, seeing Beckett watching him from the foot of the bed. "Beckett," he rasped, holding up his arm for the man to see. "What's wrong with me?"

Carson surged forward at the sight of the bloodied arm, tutting, "What have you done to yourself this time, Colonel?" He disappeared briefly to fetch a washcloth and some bandages. Sheppard incredulously found himself almost smiling at the familiar unguarded tone from the Scot. It felt so good to be addressed normally.

"I'm human," John offered dumbly when Beckett returned. In his head they'd just been words, but saying them aloud made the truth of them inescapable. John bit back hysterical laughter, trying desperately to stay calm.

"Aye," Beckett agreed, placing the roll of bandages on the table next to the bed. He pulled up a stool and seated himself next to Sheppard as he began to clean away the blood. Sensing Sheppard's growing panic, he continued to talk as soothingly as possible. "You've been in the infirmary for about a day, maybe a little less. I thought it best to let you sleep through most of the transformation. I imagine the in between stages would be the most confusing for ya."

Sheppard settled under Beckett's compassionate care, feeling his mind drift as his arms were wrapped. It felt odd escaping the I.V.s he always seemed to wake up with. None-the-less, he was relieved when the wretched site was gone. Maybe he should ask Beckett to wrap his hands as well so he wouldn't have to deal with their misshapenness as well. Once again, he was a freak.

"Do you remember who you are, son?" Beckett asked.

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force," he answered automatically. Even he didn't know how much he truly remembered. He found himself answered both Beckett and his own mind at the same time. "I remember you and Atlantis." Feeling a more thorough answer was needed, he added, "I'm basically remembering things as they come up. It all seems like too much to try and remember my whole life story all at once."

"Where were you stationed before you joined the Atlantis Expedition?" Beckett quizzed, testing the limits of John's memory.

Sheppard frowned as he remembered the vast empty coldness of perpetual ice. Right along side that was an equally raw memory of another vast emptiness of heat and sand. Two extremely different lands, but both where no one in their right mind wanted to be. "Antarctica and Afghanistan. I remember Earth."

_He remembered his hands covered in blood and desperately trying to keep a grip on the controls of the helicopter. The children in the back who he was supposed to be bringing to medical attention was echoing in his ears as he mentally resigned himself to the fact that they were going to crash. He had to do what he could to make sure as many survived it as possible. Mitch and Dex were in the back with the kids… they'd do their part to keep them safe. The screaming got louder until suddenly there was none, just the shock of impact as the last blade separated from the propeller and crashed into the windshield._

"Son?" Carson shook Sheppard's shoulder, jarring the man out of whatever unpleasant memory had taken him. The Colonel jerked out of his reverie, staring at Carson uncomprehendingly. "Easy, it's alright," Beckett soothed, patting his shoulder. Sheppard's breathing slowed, and Beckett offered him a glass of water.

Sheppard stared at the cup like it was an alien artifact before bringing it to his lips and taking his first drink since he'd become a Wraith. The water felt strange sliding down his throat, and he realized he'd forgotten how to swallow. He choked, feeling the water hovering in his throat, caught between descending down his esophagus and the back of his mouth.

"Colonel?" Beckett noticed his distress and clapped him soundly on the shoudler, causing the water to choose a direction. It dribbled out of his mouth in an embarrasing stream, leaving him panting for air. Some water had gotten down his throat, assuaging a burn he hadn't even realized was there.

After the coughing fit passed he cautiously took another, smaller sip. Beckett reached out a hand to his thoat, rubbing it as he drank again, reminding his muscles of the actions they needed to take. Closing his eyes in relief that he hadn't choked that time, Sheppard managed to finish off the cup without Beckett's assistance. When he was done, he nodded his thanks while carefully studying his lap.

"It's all right Colonel," Beckett tried to reassure the man. "That was your first drink in a while, wasn't it?" Sheppard nodded as color rose to his cheeks, still not looking at Beckett.

The silence lingered for a moment before Beckett tried steering Sheppard's wandering mind in a more pleasant direction. "Do you remember what you like to do on the mainland on your days off?" he returned to his quizzing, allowing himself a friendly smile.

Sheppard grinned as he imagined the wind spraying water onto his face, replacing the feel of sand baked into his skin, as he'd lain for hours in the hot sun waiting for a rescue that had never come. "Surf."

Beckett chuckled as he sat with Sheppard for over an hour, reminding Sheppard of his life on Atlantis, and doing his best to avoid what was clearly an unhappy before.


	6. Mind Game

_The humans had lied to him. For days, all he had known was their care, and he'd had no choice but to rely on it. But there was something they'd hidden from him, and he'd had to know. They'd done this to him. Tied him down and stolen his identity. Ripped him away from his kind and made him what he was not._

_And Teyla? She'd said she was his friend. She had been with him almost constantly, and was the safe face among the unfamiliar crowd. He'd let her in, trusted her, and told her everything. She'd known all along. She'd let them do this to him._

_He was surrounded by the enemy, and completely at their mercy. He had to get out of here. They were doing worse than killing him. They were destroying his soul._

_Michael was standing at the edge of his bed, watching him. Sheppard watched him in return, neither saying anything. They didn't have to; they knew._

x X x X x X x

The stethoscope was cold against his chest, but at least the sight of the tanned flesh didn't disturb him anymore. Beckett was listening to whatever doctors listen for in their patients' chests, and Sheppard relaxed as he did so. He'd awoken this morning completely and utterly human. Well, as human as he ever was, McKay had offered.

Said commentator peaked around the privacy curtain, making sure everyone inside was dressed and not in some embarrassing position. "Ah, good, you're awake," he smiled, entering with two covered trays, no doubt containing breakfast. "I figured you wouldn't mind a little company while you eat. You are eating again, aren't you?"

Sheppard stared at McKay, nervous about the answer. He knew he should eat, and he was certainly hungry, but yesterday's attempts were far too fresh in his mind to be eager to try. Despite his protests that he wasn't hungry, Beckett had insisted he attempt to eat a light dinner. Toast. Not too difficult, right? The bread had tasted like ash in his mouth and he'd been quick to return it to the floor, along with some pretty green bile for good measure.

Beckett had refrained from forcing the food issue since then.

The pain in his gut never let him forget that he was hungry, but he didn't know how to feed himself. What was and wasn't food was a very blurry line. If he closed his eyes, he dreamed of ripping the life right out of a person's chest. But when he opened them, he saw his friends, not food. His brain had registered the toast as food, but the instant he'd tried to ingest it, his body had rejected it. He was so confused.

"Colonel?" McKay asked, sounding concerned. He was still holding the trays.

He was human; he knew that now. He had to eat. Rubbing his hand in circles on his stomach to sooth the cramping, Sheppard conceded. "Yeah, I'll give it a try. What do you got?"

McKay smiled and offered the top tray to Sheppard. Lifting the lid revealed a bowl of oatmeal, a banana, and a glass of milk. Sheppard closed his eyes, easily dismissing the urge to feast on something less inanimate, and took a light whiff of the oatmeal. It didn't smell too bad – for hospital food. Taking that as a good sign, Sheppard dipped the spoon in and slowly brought it to his mouth. Not daring to look at the other two men, he took the first bite, anxious of his body's reaction.

It tasted wonderful as it slid easily down his mouth, even warming his throat pleasantly. John sighed in relief as he put the spoon down and went to work slicing the banana and adding it to the oatmeal. He looked up to see both Beckett and McKay smiling at him. It was a rather disgusting sight from Rodney since his mouth was filled with his own serving of oatmeal. "Know where a guy can get some coffee around here?" he asked.

Carson chuckled, releasing a tension he hadn't even realized was there. "Aye Colonel, I'll see what I can do. Try not to eat too much, though. We don't know exactly how much your stomach can handle just yet."

Sheppard toasted Beckett with his milk. "I'll keep that in mind Doc."

"So how are you doing, really?" Rodney asked as Beckett left.

Sheppard shrugged. "Not so bad," he grinned, " _really."_ McKay snorted. "I know who and what I am. It doesn't feel like someone's trying to stretch my skin out or bend my bones in directions they don't go anymore. I'm good."

He didn't mention the hunger that was still whispering in the back of his mind. He didn't need to; it was ignorable. The oatmeal tasted good, and the cramps were finally going away. The hunger could go to hell.

"So tell me, what's been going on while I was… away?" Sheppard asked, stumbling over what to call this event. It wasn't exactly imprisonment, was it?

McKay happily launched into telling Sheppard about his lab exploits. General summary: he had made some major discovery (understandable to only the geek community), the rest of his department was incompetent, Kavanaugh had made himself an insufferable pig once again, Radek was pushing him around, pretending he was equally as intelligent as the indomitable McKay… a.k.a. the usual. Sheppard was relieved to hear every last story.

x X x X x X x

_He didn't want to kill her. Knowing that he was making her afraid was satisfying, and that was good enough for his revenge. Maybe he should feed off her. That idea had a sweet symmetry to it, but he dismissed it. He wasn't hungry just yet. He wouldn't kill her in cold blood; he wasn't a monster._

_Teyla was angry with him. She was telling him that he was betraying Atlantis by returning to the Wraith. Ha! The irony. Why was she so convinced he owed Atlantis anything? They'd all but destroyed him in their need to play God. The day the Wraith finally crushed that horrid city would be holiday for all time. Nothing good ever came from Atlantis._

_Listening to her pleading with him tore something deep inside him. He just wanted to go home, but in order to do so, he had to endanger her life. She was a good person, or so he'd thought. He still couldn't find it within himself to hate her. She'd betrayed him… but she'd still shown him more kindness than any of the other humans._

_Had she been a Wraith, he could have loved her…._

x X x X x X x

"John?"

Sheppard looked up from War and Peace to see Teyla approaching his bed. In a reflex action he couldn't explain, he felt his mind reaching out for hers. He touched it, but it had no more substance than steam. He was surprised to realize he missed it. "Hi Teyla," he said aloud instead.

If Teyla had felt the ghost of his fingers on her mind, she did not mention it. Instead she asked the dreaded question, "How are you feeling?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes, but kept a firm control on his temper. "I'm _fine_. I just can't wait to get out of the infirmary." He'd been cooped up for another day since he'd first woken up. Beckett wanted to run his tests 'just to be sure everything was normal' again. The sad part was even with his confinement, he was still only up to page thirty-four.

"Did not Dr. Beckett say you would be free to leave in the morning?" Teyla asked.

"Yeah, yeah…" Sheppard mumbled. Teyla chuckled, and Sheppard watched her laugh. Had Michael enjoyed that laugh as much as he did? He thought about how much Teyla had been there for him when everyone else had been willing to let him rot in that cell. That kind of loyalty… he didn't deserve her. Figuring he should tell her thanks or something, he tried, "Look, Teyla… this whole Wraith thing…"

Teyla seemed amused by Sheppard's inability to articulate, but at least she wasn't filling in his sentences this time. "I just wanted to say, well, thank you," he managed, desperately trying not to stumble too badly. God this was embarrassing. He knew he'd failed to convey just how grateful he was, but words had always failed him, and he could no longer just project the feeling into her mind.

Teyla just nodded, looking at her lap. "You're welcome, John." She shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but Sheppard couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by her faith in him. She'd shown no fear of him when everyone else thought he was a Wraith! Maybe her ability to feel his mind had helped her to understand his plight. He'd really have to reconsider this telepathy thing.

"If I may ask, Colonel," Teyla began warily, looking at John for permission to continue, "How did they treat you aboard the hive-ship?" She was curious to know if they'd treated him like a human, or spat on him as Michael had told her the Wraith on his ship had done to him upon his return.

Sheppard's eyes grew distant as he tried to explain it to her. "They treated me like another Wraith. I trained with them, played strategy games with them." _I hunted with them_ he refused to say aloud. That was a shame he was taking to his grave. "But it was rigged, Teyla. All the Wraith knew what was going on, what I was. It wasn't real."

Teyla nodded, accepting Sheppard's testimony as truth. Taking a deep breath, she asked the question she fear most. "Did you feed? Did…"

"I don't want to talk about it," he cut in abruptly, his good mood over. Teyla nodded, correctly interpreting his anger. He'd fed, and he was ashamed. He really had been one of them.

Saying a polite farewell, Teyla left, leaving Sheppard staring at her retreating back.

x X x X x X x

 _We're going to need to order more punching bags the next time the Daedalus comes though here_ , Sheppard thought as Ronon continued to knock the crap out of the gym's current one. The runner's face was set in rage as he continued clobbering the bag like it was the cause of all his troubles.

"Hey big guy," Sheppard called out as Ronon stopped for a breath. Ronon turned around, leaning his back against the wall while watching Sheppard. "Did that bag insult you?" he asked, trying for levity.

Ronon grunted, taking a big gulp from his water bottle. Sheppard frowned at his closed body language. Sure Ronon never said much, but usually his grunts weren't quite so hostile. In the two days he'd been stuck in the infirmary, Ronon hadn't come to visit him. Sheppard refused to feel hurt by it, but that didn't mean he couldn't seek the Satedan out on his own.

Except that Ronon was gathering his things, clearly preparing to leave the gym. Sheppard tried to keep pace beside him, but Ronon's longer legs carried him farther, and he made no move to slow down for John.

"Ronon, hey, wait up," Sheppard called as Ronon started getting ridiculously far ahead of him.

Ronon turned around and pinned John with a heated glare that he'd never been subject to. "Stay away from me," he warned.

Sheppard blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Teyla told me what you did. You fed, Sheppard. You were one of them. Just stay away from me, or I'll kill you." Ronon warned.

"Ronon, it was all just a mind game, meant to mess us up," Sheppard said incredulously. "Do you think for a second I enjoy remembering what I did?"

Ronon just continued to glare at him for a moment, before loping away.

x X x X x X x

Carson fingered the plastic surrounding the turkey sandwich, trying to decide if the turkey or roast beef were more edible. He missed his mother's cooking, pure and simple. Settling on the roast beef, he continued to the end of the cafeteria line, grabbing an apple along the way. Glancing around for a familiar face among those seated at the tables, he frowned to see Colonel Sheppard sitting alone at a corner table with his head in his hands. Concerned, Carson made his way over.

"Colonel Sheppard?" he asked. Sheppard's head lifted from his hands, revealing bloodshot eyes. Beckett quickly sat down opposite the man. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Sheppard looked at him, lost. "Do you think I'm a monster Carson?"

Baffled, Carson shook his head without hesitation. "You're the last person I would think that of, son. Where'd you go and get an idea like that?" he demanded.

Sheppard shrugged. "When I was on the hive-ship… I did terrible things. I've seen some pretty bad shit in my day, but nothing compares to this. I… fed. I fed off living humans who begged me not to. I flew a dart during the cullings. I helped feed the other Wraith, not just myself. And what's worse, I _enjoyed_ it."

"Colonel," Beckett interrupted, trying to swallow his own misery, "it wasn't your fault. Michael turned you into a Wraith. You were acting as a Wraith should. Think about it. You're a strong warrior. As a human, you fight the Wraith, and often enough you win. As a Wraith, you fought humans. It's only natural. You did what you had to to survive. You're not a monster."

Sheppard looked unconvinced. His mind reached out to Beckett's, but was unable to even feel his presence. He pulled away from the lingering Wraith instinct, looking forward to the day he would be free from this last reminder. His face returned to hiding in his hands. The doctor in Beckett couldn't help but notice his untouched turkey sandwich.

"I owe you an apology Colonel," Beckett continued. "This whole mess happened because of my formula. When Michael interrogated me on that planet… I told him everything I knew about it. I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry. I wish I'd never created the damn thing."

Sheppard lifted his head up so that it still rested on his hands, but his face was free. He stared at Beckett for a moment before sighing. "It's not your fault Beckett. This is a war; bad things happen. We just have to live with them. You've given us the best weapon we've got against the Wraith. I wouldn't trade that for a whole Daedalus load of P-90s."

"It wasn't your fault either Colonel," Beckett said again. Neither of them seemed to believe the other, but both needed to hear the forgiving words. "What a pair we make."

x X x X x X x

_No, please, don't. She was crying, terrified, and about to die. His hand fit against her chest like it belonged nowhere else, and the sweet life filled him as he tore through her. This was why he lived. The hunger eased, but never disappeared, as the human crumpled beneath him._

_"I want more," he told Michael. The other Wraith just grunted with impatience. He always wanted more. How many humans would it take before this need would leave him in peace?_

_He watched himself leave the room, but in his dream he remained with Michael. The other Wraith left through a different door once Sheppard was gone, and entered a long hallway where dozens of Wraith were feeding on the herd they had just culled. Shoving one Wraith away from its prey, Michael took its place, taking the human's life force before another Wraith could. There were never enough humans to feed them all._

_Michael fed again and again over the next few days from the cocooned humans, despite telling Sheppard that there was no feeding in between cullings. What Michael had meant was there was no feeding for the weaker Wraith. Only the strong survived amongst them. Sheppard had been left to curl up in pain from hunger as Michael feasted behind his back._

_"It was not always so," Michael told him. The two watched the dream versions of themselves moving around the hive-ship. "Once, there was enough food and we could all feed. Now there's not enough for any of us. We're always hungry, Sheppard. Can you truly blame us for the steps we must take? You only experienced the hunger for a few days. Imagine suffering it for hundreds of years. It's torture beyond your comprehension."_

_"So take the drug, be human," Sheppard argued, "then none of you will have to go hungry ever again."_

_Michael shook his head. "Would you wish to be a Wraith again, even if there were enough food? Now that you know what you are, could you ever give it up? Even as a Wraith, you knew something was not right. No, it's no way to spend a life. And a very short life at that."_

_"Is this real?" Sheppard asked. "I'm not a Wraith anymore. I can't communicate this way."_

_The image of Michael faded away, along with the rest of the hive-ship. He blinked, and he was in the infirmary, watching Teyla awkwardly retreat from him. He blinked again and he was in the hallways of Atlantis, watching Ronon walk away from him, rage and disgust painting his face._

_"I am not a monster," Sheppard whispered in the empty corridor. "You hear me? I'm not a monster!" His voice echoed around him, condemning him a liar._


	7. What Passes for Normal

_"Please, don't," she begged. There were tears falling down her cheeks, but he hardly noticed them. He liked hearing her beg. Begging food was lively food, and lively food had more life to give, making him stronger. Michael had let him sample the taste of one who had actually fought them as he was being fed on. The adrenaline that mixed with that man's life force had been the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. His body had zinged with energy for hours._

_"Sheppard, please," she begged again._

_Sheppard ran his hand through her brown hair and down her cheek, wiping away the salty tears. "Shh," he soothed, "Don't cry. I won't hurt you. I'm not a bad guy." Elizabeth stopped begging, looking at him with wide, hopeful brown eyes. "Shh," he crooned again. His hand crept up to her pounding heart, and she only had time to mutter a short cry of surprise before the world was consumed by the rush of feeding._

_He smiled at her as her aged husk hung limply in his arms. She'd been a beautiful woman._

Sheppard's eyes snapped open and he jerked upright in the bed, panting. Cold sweat covered his body as he stared straight ahead, the sight of Elizabeth's withered corpse etched into his brain. He'd had the same dream again. Breathing harshly, he lowered his face into his hands, trying to block out the images.

The longer he sat, the more the dream distressed him. Throwing the knotted sheet off his legs, he stumbled into the bathroom. He blinked hard and almost threw himself into the wall as the light turned on automatically, taking him by surprise. Heading for the sink, he turned on the tap, sloshing the cold water mercilessly against his face.

It was a dream, just a dream. Elizabeth was safe; he hadn't hurt her. But the woman begging on hive-ship had been real. He'd fed off her even as she'd stood there, pleading for her life. Even in Afghanistan he'd never had to kill an unarmed woman.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, staring at his dripping face. His eyes had bags under them, giving them a bruised look. Red scratches ran down the side of his face where he'd grabbed himself and dug in with his nails when he'd first woken up. How easily this body is damaged, he noted. His Wraith body had been strong, and he'd felt like nothing could hurt him. Now every time he so much as bumped his elbow, he thought he was going to break. It appeared even a bad dream could hurt him.

Distractedly, he glanced at his watch, and realized it was a quarter to five. Well, he'd slept a good six hours, at least. He would have had to wake up in fifteen minutes anyway. Meandering back towards his bed, he shut off his alarm clock and threw on a t-shirt and running pants. He stretched every muscle carefully, unusually worried about pulling something. _I'm starting to think like Rodney,_ he thought self-deprecatingly, but still unable to convince himself he wouldn't break.

The hallways were only just beginning to come to life at this hour, so he made his way towards the more deserted sections of the city before people traffic became a problem. The clanging of his feet against the metal grates on the catwalks rang in his ears, emphasizing the absence of all other sound. He found himself looking over his shoulder several times, looking for someone who wasn't there. It had been a long time since he'd gone jogging alone. After Ford had gone AWOL, but before Ronon had joined his team. He missed them both, even though Ronon was probably jogging somewhere else in the city at the moment, avoiding him. Who knew what Ford was doing.

He tried to ignore the sting of his friend's animosity. On Earth he wasn't a liked man; he should be used to it. He felt his mind trying to reach out to the runner as he ran, but he angrily slapped it down when he realized what he was doing. He wasn't a Wraith anymore, damnit. He somehow had to break this habit that shouldn't even be possible. It was like flexing muscles he didn't have. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd lost something by becoming human. He'd never felt so alone.

His telepathy wouldn't have worked anyway.

As he came across a pier, he stopped to rest and take a drink from his water bottle. The sound of the waves crashing against the city was soothing, an empty background noise similar to the voices of the other Wraith in his mind while on the hive. He could tune it out, but he always knew it was there if he wanted to listen.

He needed something to do. Spending all this time by himself while he was 'recuperating' was clearly not doing him any good. He needed to get back out there and do something useful… like kill a few Wraith, maybe save a planet. Yeah, that was about a standard day for him. Five missions tops, and he'd do something significant and undoubtedly heroic again. Maybe then the dreams would stop haunting him.

Decided, he jogged back to his quarters for a quick shower and change before going about attaining his goal.

x X x X x X x

Elizabeth looked up from another boring report submitted by a petty scientist complaining about lab time allocations to see John swagger into her office, lazily perching on the edge of her desk. After a friendly glare, returned by the standard adorable puppy dog eyes, John relocated to one of the seats instead. _I missed this,_ she smiled to herself. Aloud she asked, "What can I do for you John?"

"Well," he began, "Beckett's given me a clean bill of health. All one hundred percent human _again_." He shook his head. "I gotta stop getting turned into things, it's getting old. So anyway, I figure it's about time I return to active duty. Don't you think?"

Weir considered, stalling by asking, "Have you spoken to Kate yet?"

John shook his head. "I don't need to see her. I'm good."

Elizabeth huffed in exasperation, narrowing her eyes. "Colonel, I thought I made this clear to you. Talk to Kate, and if she clears you, you're free to resume your duties." Seeing him pull a face, she added on a more personal level, "John, you were just turned into a _Wraith_. You were held onboard a hive-ship for days. I have a hard time believing you can just walk away from that and be okay. Please, just talk to her."

Sheppard just shook his head, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. Elizabeth wondered when their relationship had reached the level that he could act so disrespectful towards his boss, and she be perfectly okay with it. "Elizabeth," okay, so maybe it was about the same time they'd reached first name basis, something that she'd initiated. "I admit… certain aspects still… creep me out, but overall, I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me that will prevent me from doing my job."

"Then you should have no problem getting Kate's approval," Elizabeth responded, not giving an inch.

John's face remained stony as he looked at her, trying to feel any weakness in her resolve. Finally with a sigh of defeat he left the office, hopefully to look for Kate.

x X x X x X x

Rodney was sitting, working at his lab table, muttering over Ancient devices as he always was whenever John looked him up during the day. Stealthily, John walked up and sat down on the stool next to Rodney, looking over his shoulder at whatever device he was holding. It was several seconds before McKay looked out of the corner of his eyes and jumper several feet with an "Aah!"

Sheppard burst into laughter watching McKay turn red and hold his hand over his chest. "Oh, very funny Colonel," he pouted. "What do you want, or are you just here to scare me into an early grave?"

Calming down, Sheppard shrugged. He didn't know why he was here. He'd left Elizabeth's office and this was where his feet had carried him. "I'm stuck with light duty for the moment, so I just thought I'd come down here and see if you needed help with anything?"

"Seriously?" McKay asked. At Sheppard's nod, he eagerly rubbed his hands together. Normally trying to get the Colonel's assistance was like pulling teeth – painful and nerve-wracking. "Well, actually, we've been trying to figure out what this one does," he picked up a small, round object from the side of his table. "I haven't been able to come to any conclusions yet, but I'm pretty sure it won't explode."

"Pretty sure?" Sheppard asked, looking for a slightly more forceful vote of confidence.

Rodney rolled his eyes and waved Sheppard on. "Yes, yes. I wouldn't be standing here right next to you if I thought it would explode, now would I? Did you want some coffee?" he asked, walking over to the _other_ side of the room where the pot was housed.

Sheppard smirked at the man's antics, but didn't hesitate to pick up the doodad. It glowed warm in the palm of his hand, before displaying a projection of the bones of his hand about a foot above him. As he watched, images of muscles started to appear, before the graphic was covered with skin. "Cool," Sheppard offered.

"Gross," McKay countered, looking a little skeeved. "Must be a medical tool of some kind." He looked a little disappointed. Had he wanted it to go boom? Not that Sheppard objected to things that went boom, mind you, but not while he was holding them.

"Oh well," McKay continued, "I've got plenty more for you to look at. One of them has to do something cool."

Sheppard smiled. It felt nice to feel normal for a while.

x X x X x X x

Oh look, the lemon squirted more juice when it was poked. Wow. He tapped it with the fork a few more times to make sure. Yep, still squirting. How utterly amazing. He would never have guessed it would do that.

John was bored. He'd been sitting in the mess hall for over an hour now, mostly just playing with his food. Or what was his food. By now his plate contained mostly unrecognizable remains from… well, he wasn't really sure. It hadn't been very recognizable the first time around. Food just didn't taste the same to him anymore.

Yet he couldn't shake the urge to keep eating. Or try to. His stomach never had been very large… too many years as a kid having almost no food at all will do that to a man. He wasn't hungry anymore, and his stomach was pleasantly full – maybe even a little too full, which was okay – but he couldn't shake the certainty that he was still hungry.

He was well aware of the fact that he was responding to the echoes of the Wraith's hunger, but he couldn't seem to do anything about it other than be creative with his leftovers. He no longer felt any physical pain from the hunger, which was a relief. If anything, it almost felt like he was going through a mental withdrawal. Some part of him remembered the bliss, the ecstasy, that came with feeding, and equated it to the normal gratification that came at the end of a meal. A full stomach was no longer enough to satisfy him, no matter how much he told himself otherwise.

He picked up a piece of turkey he'd previously shredded in an attempt to build a log cabin out of various food articles. Mashed potatoes made great glue. Turkey had been his favorite food since he was a kid, and he was more than a little concerned about the revulsion he felt towards it now.

Through sheer will he forced himself to put the tidbit into his mouth and chew. Part of him registered the pleasant flavor, laced with tryptophan to make him sleepy later, but the majority of his mind was occupied with a hyper-awareness that he had something dead in his mouth. The urge to spit it out was held back only by his refusal to let Michael win. Whatever game the Wraith had been playing with him, Sheppard refused to succumb to it. And if that meant eating road kill… well, he'd had worse.

Painful bite by bite, he managed to eat half the turkey. He found that it was a lot more bearable to eat when the flavor was disguised by all the other crap he normally removed from the sandwich, thus explaining why his stomach filled up much quicker than normal. Sheppard was still left with the situation of being belt-looseningly full, but unable to walk away from the table.

Well, at least he hadn't let himself be scared off meat. He'd never hear the end of it from his men if he turned vegetarian.

"Colonel Sheppard?" John looked up to see Teyla standing next to his table with a tray in her hand. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Ah, company. "Please," he invited her, glad for the chance to talk to her. He hadn't seen her much lately. Actually he hadn't seen her at all since the one visit to the infirmary. After relying on her so much when he was a Wraith, her absence had been unusually hard on him, but he'd respected her unspoken wishes and left her in peace.

She smiled and settled into the seat across from him. She spared the wreckage of his meal a curious look. Sheppard shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't sure exactly where he and Teyla stood at the moment, and he had a feeling his weird behavior might be making the tension worse. "I was feeling a little bored," he offered as a weak explanation.

Clearly not buying it, Teyla left well enough alone. "How have you been feeling?" she asked.

"Pretty good," he answered. Teyla was the kind of person who actually gave you their full attention when you talked, and Sheppard had to admit it felt nice to know she really cared. Feeling that he owed her a better answer, he admitted, "Food is still a little weird right now, but I'm getting back to normal." He indicated the half-eaten, but unplayed with turkey sandwich.

Teyla ducked her head, hiding her smile at the Colonel's creation. "I am glad." Sucking in a deep breath, she steeled herself to make her confession, and apology. "I am sorry I haven't been to see you recently."

"You've been busy," Sheppard offered her a way out, not compelling her to provide any excuse whatsoever.

Teyla shook her head. Her friend deserved better than that, despite his own low opinion of himself at the moment. "No, I am at fault. I was disturbed by the thought of you feeding on other humans."

Sheppard froze, even though he knew she had been going to say that. He returned to shaping his food with his fork, avoiding looking at Teyla. He had too few friends to enjoy losing more.

"It was foolish of me, and I am sorry it took me this long to see it." Sheppard looked up at her, surprised. Well aware of the guilt her friend was carrying, Teyla resumed her friendly duties that she'd been shamefully neglecting. She reached across the table and placed her hands on his. Sheppard flinched, but made no move to pull away. "What happened to you, and anything you might have done on the hive-ship… none of it was your fault Colonel, and I am sorry for giving you the impression that it was."

 _Not his fault._ Of course it wasn't his fault. He'd been strapped to a table and turned into a Wraith against his will. He hadn't known what was going on while he was a Wraith. Only an idiot would blame himself for something he couldn't control. So, why did he still feel like shit?

"Teyla…" he swallowed, unable to explain.

"I mean it Colonel," she interrupted. The forcefulness of her voice surprised Sheppard. She was always so soft spoken with him, it was easy to forget that she was a leader and guided an entire people of her own, and someone to be reckoned with. "You are the victim here, not the monster. Michael is the monster for what he did to you. He chose to be a Wraith. He had a chance to live a life without harming another soul, and he chose to return to hive. He chose to live off the misery and pain of others. If you were truly a monster, you would not be hurting so right now."

Teyla didn't even know how right she was, John realized. Something snapped in his mind, and the lingering urge to feed vanished. Michael had chosen to return to the hunger, but he was better than that. He didn't need those few moments of bliss to feel alive. That's what the Wraith were all about. They'd lived so long and become so jaded that feeding was all that was left to them. They couldn't imagine life without it anymore.

He wasn't like that, wasn't one of them. He still itched to fly, to spend time with his friends, shooting the breeze. Wraith didn't even have friends… they were baggage during a feeding frenzy. They tortured their prisoners, hoping to inspire resistance, so that the high of feeding would last that much longer. It was cruel and barbaric and utterly unnecessary.

Michael had wanted to gain his sympathy, and weaken his resolve against the fight. But he'd done just the opposite. He'd proven just how low the Wraith are. He hadn't won, and now John was free.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Teyla smiled at him, equally shocked and relieved that her words had actually worked. Giving his hands one last pat, she released them and settled back to eat her own meal. _One friend down, one to go,_ she thought, picturing Ronon. She'd make him see reason as well, even if she had to beat his head into a wall to do it.

With an evil grin, she opened one of her ketchup packets, a compliment to the delicious Earth food known as french fries, and squeezed the red globs into a small mound of John's mashed potatoes, adding a lake next to his log cabin. Sheppard pulled a face before stealing one of her french fries and dipping it into the lake before popping it in his mouth, forcing her to watch him chew it with his mouth wide open. They both laughed, and the remainder of lunch was passed in quiet conversation as Teyla ate her soup and John finished every last crumb of his turkey sandwich.

x X x X x X x

"Okay, you can do this," Sheppard assured himself as he straightened his jacket one last time before hitting the call button on the door.

"Come in," Kate called.

Taking one last deep breath, Sheppard walked inside.


	8. Showdown

"What? She cleared you?" McKay squwaked, lifting his brows incredulously. "You were in there for all of, what, ten minutes? Shouldn't there be some kind of massive evaluation – or something? I mean a decision like this, it takes days. You can't just waltz in there and decide everything's fine!"

Sheppard sat back against his chair with a cheshire cat grin, drawing his arms up and resting them on the back of his head, enjoying McKay's ranting. Not that he paid any attention past the first few words, but it was soothing in its normalcy. He'd actually talked to Kate for about twenty minutes before she'd declared him fit for duty, and that was twenty minutes too long in his book. Fortunately she hadn't required any crying fits or revelations of deep dark secrets.

He felt good. John didn't know any other way to describe it. Not the kind of 'I'm good,' he answered any time Beckett asked him a question, but the stress-free, almost euphoric good of a well adjusted person. He hadn't been so at peace with himself since Mitch and Dex had died. He knew who he was; he knew what he was, where he belonged, and he was perfectly content with the answers to all those questions. There were no lingering uncertainties hanging over his shoulder, no more doubts or confusion.

Forget good. He felt positively jubilant.

They were all sitting around the conference table, debating whether or not Sheppard was fit to lead his team on a routine trading mission. It was a milk run, but Sheppard would take anything he could get.

Elizabeth was watching him with those oh so observant eyes, picking him apart, trying to see if he'd somehow hoodwinked yet another professional shrink. He did have a habit of that well documented in his file. "So, is the mission a go?" He flashed her his most winning grin before leaning forward in his seat, offering her his full attention.

Elizabeth watched him, uncertain how to deal with this – dare she call it hyper? – incarnation of Sheppard. Rather than sitting with his usual laid-back posture, he was leaning forward, shoulders straight, and if she wasn't mistaken his leg was bouncing under the table. Definitely not the behavior of her usually reserved 2IC. Maybe he just needed to get his feet wet again.

"All right, you have a go," she agreed. She wished she had a camera to capture the wide grin that split Sheppard's face at her words. She saw him smile far too rarely, even if his current grin seemed a little too excessive. "You leave at 0900 tomorrow."

Teyla smiled at John as he all but bounced out of the room, but her smile fell as she felt eyes boring into her back. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Ronon glaring, not at her, but at John's retreating form.

x X x X x X x

It was dank and dark in the hallways of the bowels of Atlantis, reminding Teyla of an underground cave washed in blue. Clearly this area had flooded many times, as the moisture still clung to the walls. Fortunately the Ancestors' walls were not prone to rust. If she listened carefully enough, she'd swear she could hear the drip drip drip of water leaking somewhere. It was eerie.

She had no idea why Ronon liked this place so much, but she often found him lurking down here whenever he wished to be alone. She'd tried to talk to him after the briefing, but he'd stormed past her, intent on brooding. Knowing the immaturity of men, Teyla had waited an hour before searching him out again, unwilling to let this attitude fester any longer. If Teyla was ashamed by how she'd withdrawn her support from Sheppard, than she was appalled by Ronon's hostility.

She found the runner crouching over one of the many shallow pools of water scattered around the floor, staring off into space. Her footsteps echoed, announcing her presence, even though Ronon had probably known she was there long before she'd even seen him. "What do you want?" he asked her, not looking up.

"I came to see if I could convince you that John Sheppard is still your friend," she declared. She was trying to read Ronon, but the man's posture gave nothing away.

Ronon snorted. "He was a Wraith. He fed. There's no going back from that, and if you had any sense you wouldn't trust him either." As if that explained everything.

"Colonel Sheppard was turned into a Wraith against his will. You can not hold him responsible for the actions he took while he was a prisoner." Teyla argued. Ronon stood to confront her, and Teyla winced as she heard his knees crack. How long had he been squatting there? "Do you really believe Colonel Sheppard would willingly betray us? He saved my people from the Wraith, as well as this city. He is responsible for everything you have now – your entire life on Atlantis – and this is how you repay him?"

Ronon felt a stab of guilt when Teyla phrased it that way, but he couldn't shake the image of a Wraith leaning over him while he was trapped in a cocoon. Its hand had latched onto his exposed chest and the world exploded in agony. His heart was pounding against his skin as his chest arched up into the air. It was torture beyond anything he had ever known, but he refused to scream for this creature that had destroyed his world.

Melena had died because she'd refused to leave the people who needed her help. Every step Ronon had taken since that day had been for her; he would honor her memory and make the Wraith pay for every last human life they'd taken. Such was the oath he'd sworn the day he'd become a runner. He'd never abandoned it, and it had never steered him wrong. The universe was simple from Ronon's viewpoint; everything was black and white: you were a Wraith (and therefore deserved to die), or you were human. He'd gladly killed every Wraith he'd come across, sowing revenge for each of its victims.

But Sheppard had blurred that line. Had Ronon encountered him as a Wraith on any random world, one of them would not have survived. Even knowing the Wraith had been his former friend, it would never stop feeding off humans and killing them to survive. But now Sheppard was human again, in body at least. Did that mean he was excused from his crimes while he was a Wraith?

More importantly, how could any of them really be sure Sheppard was human where it counted? He'd _fed_. How could he ever trust anyone who'd done that?

Frustrated by his silence, Teyla asked, "You're not planning anything rash on this mission tomorrow I hope? If you can not work with Colonel Sheppard then you need to let Dr. Weir know now."

Ronon grunted as he stalked off away from Teyla, into a darker corridor that afforded him more privacy. "I'm not leaving you alone with him. I'll be there."

x X x X x X x

Mama Sheppard didn't raise no fool. Sheppard was well aware of Ronon's distrust as he stood before the gate at 0850 the next morning. It was kind of hard to miss the steady glaring accompanied by the strong hands resting on his weapons. Sheppard really hoped Ronon had his gun set to stun if he was going to shoot him.

Moving closer to the runner, who grimaced upon his approach, Sheppard asked quietly, "Are we going to have a problem?"

Ronon seemed to enjoy towering over Sheppard as he smirked. "As long as the Wraith don't show up, we'll be fine."

"Good," Sheppard responded. He still waited until he was several steps away before exposing his back to Ronon. The enthusiasm that had made him soar through yesterday had abated somewhat, allowing Sheppard to at least put up the appearance of not being a rookie teenager excited about his first flight. The danger of Ronon deciding to shoot him aside, he felt like nothing could go wrong. The Pegasus Galaxy could throw her worst at him, and he could take it! Not that he wanted to test that.

He wasn't bouncing in place, anxious to go through the gate again. He wasn't.

Elizabeth was watching him from the balcony outside her office, amused by John's energy, although she prayed it wouldn't make him careless. As the gate began dialing he turned to her and gave her his customary wave and cocky grin, enjoying the old routine. Comforted by the familiar gesture, Elizabeth smiled back. "Good luck."

Three hours later the team returned with one heavily grocery-laden M.A.L.P. all in one piece. Teyla was smiling from ear to ear, but Rodney was in the process of an all-out giggle fit. Confused, Elizabeth descended the stairs where John was obviously doing his best to hide his left cheek with his hand.

"Absolutely classic!" McKay gasped. Seeing Weir, he explained, "Captain Kirk here just got his ass handed to him by the chief's daughter. Apparently she didn't find him as charming as most women usually do. She…" McKay couldn't finish explaining, content with just shaking his head and laughing.

"McKay…" Sheppard warned, all but snarling. Apparently his happy bubble had burst.

Turning to John, Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow, demanding an explanation. Sheppard dropped his hand from his cheek in exasperation, and she could see the red imprint of a hand where he'd obviously been slapped. "Colonel," she chastised, "I hope this hasn't damaged our diplomatic relations?"

John opened his mouth to give an undoubtedly nasty retort, but he was cut off by a loud snort. "Ha!" McKay answered before Sheppard could. "Chief Raznak was laughing just as hard as we were!"

Elizabeth covered her mouth were her hand, but failed to conceal her own short burst of amusement. Giving it up, she allowed herself to smile at John's expense, knowing that the situation was still under control.

Mortified, Sheppard stalked up the stairs, muttering curses in Persian. Everyone continued to smirk or laugh behind his back, including Ronon. It felt good for things to be normal again.

x X x X x X x

Sheppard and his team quickly graduated back to normal missions. For two weeks they'd only had minor skirmishes with native populations to contend with. It was probably the least violent lull in Atlantis history. Everyone was afraid to say it aloud, not wanting to jinx it, but one thought was on the backburner of everyone's minds.

"Where the heck are the Wraith? We should have encountered some activity by now?" Okay, so maybe McKay was a little less superstitious than everyone else on the expedition. _Bastard_ , Sheppard wanted to say. Instead he settled for a sarcastic, "Shut up."

"All I'm saying is it's very unusually for the Wraith to be laying this low," McKay warned. "They're up to something."

"Like kidnapping flirtatious Colonels?" Teyla ribbed. Sheppard shot her a nasty look. It was getting old already and the pictures that had somehow been taken of him when he'd first stormed through the gate with a red cheek kept mysteriously appearing in his room, his office, on his laptop, and endless other random places. Maybe next time he'd let McKay get shot.

But then there was all that whining….

Doing his best to tune out McKay's paranoia, Sheppard stepped through the gate to be greeted by yet another world consisting of trees, grass, some mountains in the far distance, and not much else.

"Why do all these planets look the same?" McKay complained behind him. Sheppard did his best to pretend he hadn't been thinking the exact same thing, glad that he didn't wear his emotions as openly on his face as certain others.

"All right, according to the Ancient Database, the outpost should be…" McKay looked around, searching for some landmark or invisible power signature that only he could see. "That way." Of course he pointed towards the mountains.

"Let's go," Sheppard sighed.

The sun on this planet was ridiculously bright, hurting his eyes even through his sunglasses. McKay stole a few jealous glances at them, which Sheppard ignored. Sheppard had warned him to bring a pair. All of them were soon sweating, and McKay looked close to hyperventilating.

Plopping himself down on a rounded boulder jutting out of the ground, McKay gasped. "Okay, this looks like a good spot to take a break. Maybe we should go back? Any leftover technology must have been fried in this heat."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "McKay, we found the Orion on a planet that was basically a volcano. Maybe the Ancients liked warm planets for all we know." _Besides, Afghanistan is hotter_ , but Sheppard kept that one to himself. He actually did feel a little bad for Rodney. The planet had to be at least one hundred and twenty degrees and the Canadian was drenched in sweat. They all were. Looking at his watch, he decided they could take ten minutes and let McKay catch his breath.

McKay was taking a long swig from his canteen when Teyla suddenly tensed and they all heard the familiar whizzing of darts. Sheppard sent McKay a death glare as he flew off the boulder, joining them in taking cover in the forest's canopy. "The next time you feel like jinxing a mission McKay, warn me so I know to sit that one out!" Sheppard snarled.

"It's not my fault!"

The darts were circling above them, firing into the trees, clearly aware of their position. "Fall back to the gate!" Sheppard ordered.

The team wasted no time. They stuck close to the tree line for cover, Sheppard doing his best to usher the flagging scientist ahead. A stunner bolt whizzed past McKay's shoulder, making the man scream in terror. In panic, the scientist raised his berretta and fired wildly to the right, narrowly missing Teyla, but hitting the two Wraith who'd been sneaking up on them.

"Keep going!" Sheppard ordered McKay. Teyla was right behind McKay, firing at the Wraith while Sheppard took cover behind a thick tree and did the same. Ronon was tucked into his own tree nook, firing at three Wraith approaching from behind them.

Sheppard's two Wraith were down, but another three replaced them, and even more were converging on Ronon. Catching the sight of a wisp of blue out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard swerved around, simultaneously firing his P-90, but no Wraith were behind him. The poor tree he'd hit shed some bark though. Confused, Sheppard inched forward. He had seen something.

"Sheppard!" Ronon called after him, but he ignored it. It wasn't important. Something was waiting for him just a few trees away. He had to check it out; it could be a danger to his team.

Leaves and branches crashed into his face, knocking off his glasses and scratching his eyes as he chased whatever was hiding in the bush. Something fast and heavy crashed into his side, knocking him over while smacking the P-90 from his grip. Sheppard gasped as he struck out with his fist, connecting solidly with the head of his attacker, eliciting a satisfying grunt. Then the favor was returned to the top of his head. It was like being hit with a truck.

Stunned, Sheppard's body went limp as the Wraith grabbed him firmly around the chest, dragging him further away from his team. Ignoring the throbbing in his temples, Sheppard tried to call out to Ronon, but an enormous hand clamped around his mouth, twisting his neck slightly. His eyes went wide when he realized the gap in the hand resting against his lips was where the Wraith drained life from, and it was pressed right up against him. Sheppard dizzily struggled against the urge to gag.

_Don't fight._

The voice was soothing, echoing in his mind with an aching familiarity. Sheppard felt his eyelids droop a little and his muscles unclench as he relaxed against the body dragging him. He'd missed that presence in his mind. The hand left his mouth and joined the other on his chest, dragging him into denser foliage. Sheppard used the freedom to look up at the Wraith's face.

Michael. Sheppard didn't need to see the close-cropped hair to recognize the one who'd been his constant companion, his mentor, aboard the hive. He allowed himself to relax even further into the grip. Michael was his friend; Michael would never hurt him.

When they reached a patch of trees so dense Sheppard couldn't even recognize which way they'd come from, Michael released him with a little shove both physically and mentally. Stumbling, Sheppard had to grab hold of the nearest tree and lean against it to regain his equilibrium. Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Sheppard snarled at Michael. He reached down to his thigh for his handheld, but found it missing. When had he been disarmed? Without missing a beat he grabbed his knife instead, brandishing it at Michael. "What do you want?"

"What does every creature want?" Michael smirked. "Satisfaction."

Sheppard felt his eyebrows rise up at that comment. "And you had to drag me all the way here to kill me?" There was no way Sheppard could take Michael with just a knife. His only hope was to keep him talking long enough until his team could come for him.

"Why do you assume I want to kill you? I thought your time among us made it clear that we are not monsters, merely creatures doing what we must to survive. It is you humans who are always eager for the kill, who are the monsters." Michael stood wary of Sheppard, but he had yet to draw a weapon of his own.

"If you're not going to kill me, then what do you want?" Sheppard asked. There was very little room to move about in this thicket. He was smaller and thinner than Michael; if he could get through the thicket before Michael, he'd have a much clearer head start to make a run for his fallen weapons. But which way was it? Thick trees surrounded them on all sides. If he went the wrong way, he'd get lost in even thicker woods and Michael would eventually catch him again. Sheppard decided to keep that option in reserve.

_Don't run._

"Stay out of my head!" Sheppard roared. He lunged at Michael, who agilely danced out of the way, giving Sheppard's back a cursory thump. Sheppard was now right up against the edge of the bush where he could easily make a break for it, but found his feet refused to take him further. Damn it! Michael was still in his head, preventing him from leaving. Fuming, Sheppard turned around to face his captor.

"Can you honestly say you didn't miss me in your head? You don't find it lonely being a human, with no one else's mind to comfort you?" Michael asked. Sheppard wanted to tell him shut the eff up, but an image of Teyla was thrust into his mind. How she talked to him mentally while he was in the holding cell. How her mere presence had comforted him, kept him from panicking.

"The humans are weak and short lived; you've noticed this yourself!" Michael continued. Images ran amok through his mind. Him stretching before a run only to come back with sore muscles anyway flashed by. His grandfather's shaking, wrinkled hands resting on his young ones, his grandmother resting against white hospital sheets as she struggled to take just one more breath.

Sheppard lost track of the real world under the onslaught. He didn't see Michael moving closer to him, and he was barely aware when Michael placed his hand on Sheppard's chest and pushed. "They are the prey. Sooner or later every last one of them is going to feel a hand on their chest, just like this. They are going to wither away under it, and die. There is no way to escape it."

Sheppard shuddered as he remembered the eyes of the man in the cocoon boring into him, hating him, knowing he was going to die, and that Sheppard would be the one to kill him.

Michael stepped even closer to Sheppard, until they were just inches apart, Michael's hand still resting on his chest. "I know you've been alone, Sheppard. I've been with you since you left. That's how I knew you'd be here. I watched your friends back away from you in fear, reject you. I was with you in the infirmary when you dreamed of your friends abandoning you."

Sheppard sucked in a desperate breath as he jogged alone in the morning, Ronon deciding to run elsewhere.

"Humans are not your friends, Sheppard," Michael said quietly, confidently. "They no longer see you as one of their own. You've known true power, and the bliss that comes with it. They can never understand." Sheppard's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he remembered feeding. He remembered the strength that had flow through his arms, coursed through his veins, and made his mind soar. He could do anything.

"Come back to that Sheppard," Michael compelled.

Sheppard was drowning in his own memories, rendering Michael's words a whisper in his ear. Then suddenly, the images were gone, and Michael was backing away from him. "I give you the choice that was never given to me. Do you really want to stay a human Sheppard, when the whole galaxy waits for you as a Wraith?"

Sheppard blinked, still overwhelmed by the barrage of images. It was like watching a propaganda reel. He'd seen them before in Afghanistan, demonstrating the evils of Western culture. An accumulation of many of his most powerful memories, assembled in an order meant to produce the desired feeling. But he also knew how to reorder them.

He couldn't forget Rodney and Carson's constant presence in the infirmary even while he was still mostly Wraith. Neither of them had withdrawn their support. And Teyla. She'd gone above and beyond the call of friendship, reaching out to him when no one even believed he was himself. His friends had never abandoned him. Except Ronon, who couldn't forgive him for what he'd done as a Wraith. After what they'd done to his people, Sheppard couldn't really blame him. That didn't make it hurt any less to lose a friend.

But the memory that haunted him the most was the terrified victims he'd fed off aboard the hive-ship. They'd begged and pleaded; he could still hear their screams for mercy. Just thinking about what he'd done to them made him want to tear his skin off and skratch his eyeballs out of his head. How could Michael possibly insist they weren't monsters? They were the boogy-man straight from Hell.

"You have no idea what it means to be human," Sheppard snarled at Michael. "No matter how long you were with us, you never got it. Sure, you learned a few things about strategy and cooperation, but you still don't know anything about what makes us tick. You think immortality makes you great? It's what's been your undoing. All that you have left is your hunger. Everything that once meant something to you is meaningless. I pity you."

Sheppard had never pitied anything in his life, but the Wraith might actually be his first. They really were a people tearing themselves apart looking for their lives to have some warped meaning.

Seeing little option left, Sheppard rushed Michael with his knife, aiming for his heart. Michael grabbed his wrist, twisting it away, trying to make him dropped the knife. Sheppard swept his legs behind Michael, knocking him to the ground. Refusing to let go of Sheppard's wrist, Michael took Sheppard down with him. The impact jarred Michael's arm, loosening his grip and allowing Sheppard to twist the knife towards Michael's neck.

Both men were grunting, their faces close together. Sheppard could see the madness that lurked just under Michael's eyes, and was prepared when the feeding arm jerked up to catch him in the chest. Rolling, Sheppard managed to pin the arm beneath them and move his knife hand closer to its target. Michael rolled them over, freeing his hand and allowing it to latch onto Sheppard.

Sheppard braced himself for the sharp pain of feeding, but Michael jerked as his body was hit repeatedly with bursts of red energy. Suddenly a dark arm was there, throwing Michael onto the ground. Sheppard blinked up at Ronon's angry face, watching the man fire one last blast at Michael's chest.

Panting, Sheppard levered himself onto his elbows. After a moment, Ronon offered his arm, and Sheppard took it. "Took you long enough," Sheppard ribbed.

Ronon grunted. He'd actually been hidden in the brush for almost a minute. He and Teyla had dispatched the Wraith around them, but not before McKay's jinx had caught up to him and he'd been stunned. Teyla had rushed him to the gate while Ronon had gone after Sheppard. He'd founded Sheppard's P-90 and crushed sunglasses, and tracked him, only to find him being all but embraced by Michael, staring off into space. Ronon didn't know whether to go charging in to save his friend, or if Sheppard had somehow been in cahoots with the Wraith the whole time he'd been back. But then he'd seen Sheppard attack the Wraith in a suicide lunge, and he knew in that instant that the man really was Sheppard in mind and body. Finally accepting that he had his friend back, Ronon had fired upon the Wraith.

"I'm glad you came," Sheppard said quietly. He hadn't been sure if Ronon would.

Ronon shrugged, brushing up the warmth he was feeling in his gut. "I got tired of running by myself in the morning."

x X x X x X x

Elizabeth and Kate sat next to each other on a bench, sipping coffee, and enjoying the pleasant view of the endless ocean that surrounded Atlantis. There was a cool breeze reeking havoc on Kate's long hair, making Elizabeth wonder why she'd been growing hers out. Short hair was definitely a lot less maintenance.

"Is John really all right?" she asked Kate.

Kate shrugged. "He's as well as he can be, under the circumstances. You know I can't violate doctor/patient confidentiality."

Elizabeth took a long swig of her coffee, barely tasting it. "I guess I'm just a bit surprised at his reactions. He spent all that time aboard the hive as one of them, and he came back feeling absolutely no sympathy towards them? I find that hard to believe."

As a negotiator, it was Elizabeth's job to be able to get into the heads of all involved parties, to understand what makes them tick. And every time, she'd found that neither side was entirely wrong or entirely right. She couldn't help but be aware that the Wraith were doing what they had to to survive. She couldn't hate them for that, even though she'd still do everything she could to stop them.

Kate smiled in understanding, knowing where Elizabeth was going with her questions. "John isn't a civilian like us; he can't afford to think that way. He needs to see the Wraith as monsters to fight them. He has a lot of responsibility riding on his shoulders. If knows that if he wavers, a lot of people will pay the price."

Confused, Elizabeth asked, "So the Wraith might not be as evil as he is claiming they are? On some level, he does feel some sympathy for them, but isn't allowing himself to acknowledge it?"

Kate nodded. "It's possible. One day when the Wraith are no longer a threat, he may be able to look upon them with understanding. But until then, he has a job to do."

x X x X x X x

The echoes were twice as loud this morning, but Sheppard didn't hear them. He whipped his forehead against his sweaty arm, not really accomplishing much in the way of removing sweat. Sighing, he opened the cap on his water bottle and took a long drink. Without breaking stride he passed the bottle onto Ronon, who finished it off in one gulp.

"I've got to start bringing a bigger bottle," Sheppard muttered.


End file.
